Black Night: The Octopus' Revenge
by The Inimitable Enigma Cypher
Summary: What happens when an eight-limbed scientist finds his world turned upside down once again, and those close to him are threatened? Will he fight against the darkness, or be consumed by it? AU, the 3-quel to ANB/RS:TOR. Complete.
1. Back To Normality?

**Black Night: The Octopus' Revenge**  
_By The Inimitable Enigma Cypher_

**Chapter One: Back To Normality?**

_New York City, 1935..._

It was an unusually cold winter in the city that never sleeps. People walked down the streets, their faces turned towards the sidewalk, heading towards places of warmth. Even now, a storm was threatening to break over the city, dropping inches of snow on the streets.

And it was only 8:00 in the morning.

Of course, this _was _one of the busiest cities in America, even in winter. As a result, there were always people out and about, even in the harshest of conditions.

And there was always something going on...

xxx

"Rosie, have you seen the keys to my desk! I can't find them anywhere, and my reactor plans are locked in it!"

The woman in question, a brown-haired, gray eyed figure of a somewhat exotic look, poked her head in the lab and said, "Did you check the pocket of your lab coat?"

"Why would I have put them in there?" Otto Octavius said as he appeared from behind the nuclear reactor he was working on. "I know they're not there."

"Will you at least check?" Rosie said, smiling at him.

Octavius walked over to the desk and picked up his lab coat, riffing through the pockets. "I'm telling you, they're not going to be-" here, he fell silent as he pulled out a set of keys, a somewhat embarrassed half-smile across his face.

"See? What did I tell you?" she said, that same smile playing on her face as she stood in the doorway.

"Fine, you win this time." he said, an amused tone in his voice as he put the coat on and unlocked his desk, removing the plans he had mentioned, unrolling them to look them over.

"You have to be the only person in the city I know of that chooses to be up at eight in the morning working." Rosie said as she walked over to him, giving him a peck on the cheek before leaning against the desk.

"I know, but I'm so close to completing it." Octavius said as he walked over to the reactor and placed one hand on it, almost fondly. "I've been working on this for years. When it's completed, it will bring about a new source of energy. It will bring about great change for all of mankind."

Rosie couldn't help but smile at the passion with which he spoke; she knew better than anyone else what his work meant to him.

She was also one of the few people who knew of his past life, which he never talked about much.

Octavius had emigrated from Germany nearly two years ago, to continue his research. But the first year he had been in America had been hard for him. First, he was framed in two explosions he had not committed. He had nearly died in the aftermath of the second explosion, which had occurred at the lab he used to work at. He had gone all over the city for several days, while in the clutches of radiation poisoning, trying to find the evidence to clear his name. Eventually, the man who framed him, a shady businessman named Norman Osborn, had been arrested and imprisoned for the entire fiasco.

Then, only a few months after that, Rosie, his then-fiancée, had been abducted by the Russian intelligence service, in order to force Octavius into building them an atomic bomb. But he'd refused; instead, he and a friend of his, a renowned biologist by the name of Curt Connors, had gone to Moscow to find her. Eventually they had found her (or more correctly, she'd found them), and the organization that had her abducted was dismantled.

Ever since then, their life had been relatively in order. Rosie was surprised by how little he'd changed during his time in America; he still spoke with a heavy German accent, and he still couldn't find his way around the city without help. She thought for sure he'd have been changed by how much had happened in such a short amount of time. But now things had calmed down considerably, Octavius was able to continue his life's work, and him and Rosie had been wed, about a year ago. Their life could not be more perfect.

"So what happens when you finish it?" Rosie asked him.

"I don't really know." Octavius replied, taking his hand off of the reactor, running it through his dark brown hair. "Any number of things. I could win the Nobel Prize for this. We could wind up incredibly wealthy." He walked over to her, putting his arm around her. "But the science is what's truly important to me. As long as I have you and my research, I could do without the fame, without the accolades that an invention such as this would bring."

The way in which he spoke captivated her. She had never seen someone like him before, so devoted to his work. Octavius was one of the world's most renowned scientists, and yet he didn't care about that. His name was as well-known as those of Niels Bohr and Albert Einstein, and yet the fame had never mattered to him.

She threw her arms around him in an embrace, resting her head on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. He had told her once that she was what kept him sane, and she knew it to be true. He had told her of his dark past, and how he had been hurt before because of a relationship that was not even romantic in nature. In a way, he had never recovered from that. He said that she was a bright spot in his life that kept away the dark shadows of his past. He pulled her closer to him, running his hand through her hair. She knew how much she meant to him; he'd risked death to find her in Moscow. The ironic thing, she reflected, was that the only reason the two of them had met was because his friend Curt had literally dragged him over to her table, in the diner at which they were at. He was painfully shy when they first met; he'd never had experience with women before. But she'd invited him to stay with her, and from there, their relationship took off. She also found it odd that, with her being a teacher of English Literature at Empire State University, that she'd fallen in love with a scientist, instead of a poet, like her. But that didn't matter to her. They stood there for several moments, in that insoluble embrace, neither of them wanting to let go.

Then, as if on cue, the phone rang, spoiling the moment.

Octavius looked down at her and said, "I'd better answer that." He released her and walked over the phone, picking it up.

"This is Octavius speaking."

The voice on the other end was as unexpected as he could have imagined.

"Doctor Octavius, it's Capt. Stacy. I need to talk to you immediately."

"About what?" Octavius asked, confused.

"I can't say, over the phone. If you could come down to the precinct as soon as possible, we'll talk there."

"I'll be right there." Octavius replied, before hanging up. He looked over at Rosie, who looked visibly confused.

"It's Capt. Stacy. He wants to talk to me about something." he said.

At the startled look on her face, he said, "Don't worry; I'm sure it's nothing."

"I sure hope so." she said, a slightly worried look on her face.

He walked towards the door, grabbing his black trenchcoat off of the hook beside the door, before looking back at her.

"I'm really sure it's nothing." he said, trying to smile as he walked out the door, putting his coat on. Truth be told, he was rather worried about the situation himself; why would the Capt. need to talk to him?

xxx

_20 minutes later..._

When he walked through the front door of Precinct 92, Capt. George Stacy was standing at the front desk, waiting for him.

"You got here faster than I expected." The Capt. said as he readjusted his policeman's cap upon his head.

"Well, it is rather early." Octavius replied, shutting the door behind him. "Not as many people up this time of morning. Makes travel a lot quicker. But anyways, what am I here for?"

"We'd probably better talk in my office." The Capt. said as he motioned towards the open door of his office before walking towards it. Octavius stood there a moment more before following him into the brightly-lit room, taking a seat in the chair across from the Capt's own.

Capt. Stacy shut the door and locked it, before taking a seat himself.

"Let me start by saying that you are by no means in any kind of trouble here." Capt. Stacy said, straightening up a few of the papers on his desk. "But it is a quite serious matter, so I'll cut to the chase. Last night, we got a call from one of our informants. We have reason to believe that an attempt on your life will be made sometime in the near future."

At that, whatever Octavius was about to say disappeared as he looked over at the Capt., wide-eyed.

"We haven't ascertained whether or not it is true." Capt. Stacy said, looking down at one of the papers on his desk. "But the threat seemed rather serious. We thought you deserved to know as soon as possible."

"Why would someone be after me?" Octavius asked, still not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

"We haven't figured out why." The Capt. said. "It could be any number of reasons, I suppose. We've got a few of our men looking into it now."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Octavius asked, rather stunned by what he was hearing. "I have an experiment to finish, and I'd rather not be forced into hiding by a threat that you're not certain exists."

"I know." The Capt., said as he fumbled in his desk for something. "My advice? Keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Don't let your guard down for a second."

"How long do you think it will take to get to the bottom of all this?"

"I honestly have no idea." the Capt. said. "That's all for now. I'll call if I find out anything else."

Octavius did not respond as he walked out of the office, out into the early morning light.

_I __just __don't __understand __it. _he thought. _The __only __people __I __know __of __that __would __want __me __dead __are __still imprisoned__. __So __who-_

The sound of wing beats made itself known to him, interrupting his train of thought. He looked up just in time to see the strangest sight: a man, clad in a large green bird suit hurtling towards him, only a split-second before the birdman snatched him off of the ground and headed skywards.

"LET GO OF ME!" Octavius shouted at the man, not daring to try to fight his way free; they were several hundred feet up, now.

The birdman simply looked down at him and laughed.

"This high up? I wouldn't recommend it."

Octavius had to try very hard to keep from panicking; ever since he and Curt had hijacked an airplane to fly to Moscow, he had been rather afraid of heights. A feeling of vertigo overtook him, and he screamed, "DEAR GOD! PUT ME DOWN! _PLEASE!"_

The birdman looked back down at him and said, in a mocking tone of voice, "Afraid, are you? That's not exactly a response I would expect, coming from the great Doctor Octopus."

At that, Octavius went white, and he looked up at his assailant, shocked.

"H-How could you possibly know about that?" he stuttered, not daring to look back down at the ground.

"My boss knows a great many things about you." the birdman said. "As a result, I know a few things, myself."

"Who is he?" Octavius said, keeping the panic out of his voice by sheer force of will. "And for that matter, who are _you?"_

"For the time being, you can call me the Vulture." the winged man said. "As to your first question, I'm not telling."

Octavius could not respond as he looked back down, and a moment of black panic overtook him. He tried frantically to fight his way free of the Vulture's grip, managing to force him down a little lower to the ground. They were still about 200 feet in the air, though, apparently over Central Park.

"Do you want me to drop you right here!" The Vulture shouted, just as Octavius managed to land a blow to the birdman's nose, shattering it. The Vulture instinctively put his hand to his nose, swearing badly.

Unfortunately, this action caused him to lose his grip, and Octavius started to fall towards the earth.

He realized what had happened only a nanosecond before he started screaming hysterically, thinking that this was the end for him, as he hurtled towards the ground...


	2. Something Unavoidable

**Chapter Two: Something Unavoidable**

Octavius could not believe what was happening to him. He had just been dropped one-hundred and fifty feet over Central Park by his winged assailant, and was even now hurtling towards the pond in the middle of the park.

_At __least __he __didn't __drop __me __over __land. _he thought the moment before impact.

The impact as Octavius hit the surface of the half-frozen pond sent shock waves through his body, even more so then the ice-cold water that he was now submerged in. He fought his way to the top of the pond, trying frantically to grab hold of one of the pieces of ice floating in the pond. At that point, he desperately wished he had learned how to swim...

He tried screaming for help, but the ice cold water had driven the air from him, and he started to go under, still clawing for a nearby piece of ice with which to pull himself up. As he went under, his vision started to go black, and he barely felt the two hands that were even now pulling him out of the water, onto land. He laid there on his side for a minute, his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath and occasionally coughing on the water he had apparently inhaled.

Finally, he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the person who had pulled him out; it was a woman of about twenty to twenty-five years of age, with black hair and blue eyes. She looked rather concerned as she asked, "Are you alright?"

It took him a minute to respond, but finally he said, in a hoarse voice, "I-I'm fine... just c-cold..."

The woman was silent for a minute before a look of shocked recognition crossed her face.

"Doctor Otto Octavius?"

Octavius looked up at her, stunned himself. He would still never get used to the idea of random people recognizing him.

"That would be me..." he said, breaking off in a cough.

At that, the woman took a step back, amazed at who she just pulled from the frozen pond.

"My God... this is unreal..."

"H-Have we met?" Octavius asked, trying to sit up. Lying in the snow only made him colder.

"No, but I know of you. I'm... kind of a big fan of your work." she admitted, a half-cocked smile on her face, offering her hand to help him stand. "I'm Dr. Carolyn Trainer."

Octavius took the proffered hand, brushing the snow off of him as he got to his feet.

"I'd introduce myself, but obviously that's not needed." he said as he started to shiver. He was soaked to the bone, and the cold weather didn't help, either.

"We need to get you out of the cold." Carolyn said as she took her coat off and handed it to him.

He looked at it for a minute before taking it, muttering his thanks before putting it on.

"T-Thanks for pulling me out of there." he said, pulling the coat tighter around him. "I c-can't swim, so I wouldn't have made it out of there by myself."

"It's no problem." she replied, shrugging one shoulder as she stood there. "I'd like to think someone would do the same for me."

A moment of silence passed before Octavius asked, "How'd you like to come by the lab for a bit? It's nearing lunchtime, anyways. I think my wife will probably have it waiting when we get there."

"That sounds nice." Carolyn said, a smile on her face. Obviously the idea of spending a bit of time with the man she admired appealed to her.

The two of them started walking towards the street to hail a taxi; Octavius' lab was about twenty blocks from there; too far to walk, considering how wet he was after his impromptu landing in the pond.

"So, what is it that you do for a living?" Octavius asked when they found a ride back.

"I'm a geneticist. I worked at a lab not too far from here, actually. Well, before it was blown up a few years ago." Carolyn replied, a dark glimmer in her eyes. "I lost all my research that day."

"You worked at Quest Research?" Octavius asked, interested. He had seen that explosion for himself; his former employer had been the catalyst behind it.

"Yes. Now I do my work independently." She said in reply. "But I also did some work in atomic science, a few years ago."

"Really?"

"Yes. I was actually over in Rome when they discovered how to induce radioactivity in certain elements. I studied over there for a year."

"Really!" Octavius said, rather impressed at what he was hearing.

"Yes." she said, a grin on her face. "It was rather exciting."

"Well, I have a proposition for you, then." Octavius said, looking over at her. "I've been in need of a lab assistant, and considering what you told me about you not currently working for anyone in particular, maybe you'd like to come and help me in the lab? I mean, when you're not immersed in your own research, of course."

"Oh, definitely!" she said. "That would be great!"

Then, the cab stopped in front of his lab. He paid the driver, and they stepped out, walking through the front door. They did not speak as they headed upstairs, but Octavius noticed Carolyn looking around the lab.

"Rosie, I'm home!" he called out as they entered the apartment half of the building. They walked into the living room to find Rosie reading a book; probably a book of poetry.

She looked up from the book, noticed how soaking wet he was, and jumped out of her chair, running up to him. She hadn't yet noticed Carolyn standing in the doorway.

"My God, why are you soaked?" she said, totally confused.

"It's a long story..." Octavius said as he walked towards his bedroom to change into something dry. "I'll explain it in a minute."

When he came out a few minutes later, he had a blanket pulled tightly around him to warm up, and he walked into the living room. Rosie walked up to him, holding a cup of tea; she knew he must have been freezing; it was the middle of winter.

"Now what happened?" she asked as he took the cup from her hands.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you..." he started. "I was attacked by, of all things, a man wearing a flying suit. He called himself the Vulture. He dropped me in the pond in Central Park."

"What!" she yelped, shocked at what she was hearing. "But you can't swim! How'd you make it out?"

"Well, actually, that's the next thing I was going to mention." He gestured towards the doorway, where Carolyn was still standing, leaning against the doorframe. "This is Dr. Carolyn Trainer. She's the new lab assistant. She's... also the person who pulled me out of the pond."

Rosie looked over at her and smiled.

"Well, I guess I have you to thank for saving my husband." she said as she walked over to shake her hand.

"Think nothing of it." Carolyn replied as she shook Rosie's hand.

"So, would you two like some lunch? I just finished making it a few minutes ago."

"That sounds great right about now." Octavius said as the three of them walked into the dining room.

xxx

Meanwhile, in a building many blocks away, a man sat at his desk, his face obscured by shadows. He never let his associates see his face; he prided himself on his ability to remain unconnected to anything going on.

At the moment, he was in the process of reprimanding one of his associates about a failed mission...

"HOW did you let him escape?" he shouted at the man who stood on the other side of the desk. "You had him in the air! All you had to do was go up a few thousand feet and drop him!"

"That's what I was _trying _to do!" The Vulture said, exasperated. "But he forced me down! He wouldn't stop fighting me!"

"That's to be expected!" the mastermind said, slamming his fist on the desk. "I told you how feisty the Doctor can be! You shouldn't have taken your time doing it!"

"I needed to get up high enough!" The Vulture shouted at him. "Will you give me a fricking break!"

"You'll get a break, all right!" the mastermind shouted, pulling a pistol out of the top drawer of his desk and aiming it at the Vulture. "But it will be six feet under! Now get your ass out of this office and don't come back until I need you!"

The Vulture walked out of the office, a scowl on his face.

The mastermind shook his head, wondering what made him decide to hire such impudent underlings...

xxx

Back at the lab, the three of them were sitting at the table upstairs, deep in discussion about the possibility of making nuclear fusion a reality. Actually, it was more like Octavius and Carolyn going back and forth about it, while Rosie sat there reading her book. She had gotten lost a few minutes into the conversation.

"Just think about it!" Octavius said, half of a sandwich in hand, and a pencil in the other, scribbling in a notebook already crammed with notes. "What if it's possible? Can you imagine how beneficial that could be? Even considering how efficient it is, fission energy would still leave radioactive waste behind! If we were to harness the energy of fusing atoms, there would be nothing left behind!"

"But do you even know of any elements that would fuse together?" Carolyn asked, not convinced.

"That's why nuclear fusion is still theoretical!" Octavius replied, throwing his sandwich back on the plate. "I haven't found any elements yet that I know would fuse. I think that hydrogen, or one of its isotopes, would be ideal, but I'm still a long way from the experimental stage. My priority now is to finish the experiment I'm already working on, and then I can concentrate on-"

A knock at the door got their attention, ending the conversation for the moment. Octavius walked downstairs to answer the door and found his friend Curt standing there.

"Hey, Otto." Curt said, a smile on his face. "What are you up to?"

"Not much." Octavius replied. "Just having lunch and talking to the new lab assistant."

"You've got a new lab assistant?" Curt asked.

"Yes, I met her this morning."

"Oh, it's a she?"

"Yes, and she's apparently a fan of my work." Octavius said, a half-smile on his face. "You want to come up and get something to eat?"

"Yeah, sure!" Curt said as he walked into the lab, and the two of them headed upstairs. "I heard on the radio about someone being dropped into the pond in Central Park by some man in a flying birdsuit. Sounded kind of like something you'd expect to see in the movies. Wonder who that man was?"

"Would you believe that man was me?" Octavius replied, a half-cocked smile on his face.

"Are you serious?" Curt asked, wide-eyed.

"I wish I wasn't."

They walked into the dining room and Curt said, "What happened? I mean, why'd the birdman come after you?"

"Well, actually, that's what I forgot to mention." Octavius said as he took a seat. "I forgot to mention the reason I was called down to the precinct."

"What are you talking about?" Rosie asked, sounding worried. Curt turned to look at him as well.

"I don't know how to say this lightly, but... someone has a hit out for me." Octavius said as he started drumming his fingertips against the table. "Someone is out to end my life, and I don't know who it is. Capt. Stacy told me this when I went down to the precinct, but he wasn't sure whether or not it was true. Now I know that it is a serious threat."

The room went silent at this admission. After a moment, Rosie asked, "Why you? Why would someone be out to get you?"

"I have no idea whatsoever." Octavius replied. "The only people I can think of that would want me dead are all still in prison."

"So once again you're in danger." Rosie said, sadly. "Why does all this seem to happen to you?"

"I don't know." Octavius said, before falling silent. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be alone for a minute." He stood up and walked down the hall, into his study. He shut the door behind him and walked over to the window, yanking the curtains shut. Taking a seat in a chair in the corner, he put his hand to his head, unable to believe everything that had happened, everything that was still happening. First, it had been the incident with Osborn, a year and a half ago. Then it was the incident with the Russian intelligence service, a year ago. And now this. And in each of them, he had nearly lost his life. He couldn't help but wonder about that; nothing like this had ever happened to him when he lived in Germany; why was it all happening now? Rosie had worded the question perfectly; why _did_all this seem to happen to _him?_

A knock at the door brought him back to reality.

"Otto, are you in there? Can I come in?"

It was Rosie at the door. And she sounded rather worried.

"Door's open." he replied. "Come in."

She opened the door quietly, walked up to him and said, "Is something wrong? You looked rather tense out there."

"I just... I have the feeling something bad is going to happen." he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Something life-shattering. Something unavoidable."

"Why would you think that?" she asked as she walked behind the chair, putting her arms around his neck, resting her chin on his head.

"I don't know... I just can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen." he said quietly, looking up at her. "Maybe not to me, but to someone I know. Last time I felt like that, you got abducted. It's not a good feeling at all."

She didn't have a reply to that; she knew how he had been affected by that whole fiasco.

He sat there for awhile, lost in thought, trying to figure out why he felt this way. Surely nothing else really bad could happen? Hadn't enough happened to him already?

But he couldn't shake that feeling: the one that told him something was going to happen... something that may very well mean disaster for him...


	3. Conversations

**Chapter Three: Conversations**

_One week later..._

By now, it was almost eight-thirty at night. Octavius had been working on the reactor, with Carolyn's assistance, since early morning. They were just about ready to break for dinner, when Curt walked in the lab, looking downcast about something.

Octavius noticed this, said, "Alright, Carolyn, we'll call it a day." and walked over to Curt to see what was wrong.

"My house was broken into last night, while I was at ESU trying to secure funding for my experiment." Curt said, walking upstairs. "Whoever it was, they ransacked the place. They were still there when I got back, but they took off."

"What!" Octavius replied, thunderstruck. Why would someone do this?

"Exactly as I said it." Curt said as the two of them headed upstairs to get something to eat. Rosie and Carolyn were already there. "They not only robbed me, they tore the place apart."

"You were robbed!" Rosie said, shocked to hear this.

"Yes." Curt said, shaking his head, that downcast expression still on his face. "But there was something strange about this burglar."

"What's that, then?" Octavius asked, making himself a plate and taking a seat.

Curt did the same and sat down, then said, "I got a glimpse of him right before he left. His appearance... I don't think he was strictly human."

"Oh? Why is that?" Octavius asked, interested in the answer.

"This person... he was huge! I mean, bigger than the average human. He had this odd grey skin, and a... a _horn_growing out of his forehead!" Curt said. "He looked like a giant rhinoceros!"

"I've heard of this happening." Carolyn said, finally speaking up. She was the geneticist in the group, after all. "A flaw in the human genome, acquired before birth, giving the person superhuman powers. Anything else unusual about this person?

"Only the fact that he ran straight through my wall!" Curt said. "I think he's got superhuman strength, as well."

Carolyn only nodded, as if that confirmed a suspicion, and said, "Probably a mutant, then. There have been several new cases of human mutation in the last few months. Usually the mutated genes are latent, until the person reaches maturity. Sometimes they are not. This may be another case of mutation."

"There are genes that can do something like this to people?" Rosie asked, not being as knowledgeable in the sciences as the three others at the table. "And you say they're born with it?"

"Yes. By definition, a mutant is someone who is born with the gene that grants the person their powers, whereas anyone else with powers would simply be considered superhuman." Carolyn replied, taking a sip of her coffee, before continuing. "The parents may or may not have the mutated gene, but the offspring can still be born with it. A few of us at the lab I used to work at jokingly called them _Homo __superior, _after someone claimed they were the next evolutionary step."

"Is that how you know so much about them?" Octavius asked, extremely interested in what he had just been told. "You mentioned you were a geneticist when we first met. That's your area of specialty, isn't it?"

"No, it has just always fascinated me." she replied. "That, and..." here, she trailed off, but Octavius knew what she was hinting at.

"What, you're going to tell me you are one, yourself?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Actually, yes." Carolyn replied. "I'm a technopath. I can take control of technology using only my mind. I try not to, however. I never found much use in it."

"Fascinating." he replied, surprised by what he had just heard. Someone who could control technology with their mind? "And you were born with this gene? How is that even possible?"

"Can we please get off the subject?" she replied, looking down at the table.

Octavius did not say anything more about it. He looked over at Curt and said, "How bad is the damage?"

"The house is completely destroyed." he said, shaking his head. "Martha's staying with a sister of hers until we can find a new place. I was going to ask... I mean, if it's not too much trouble..."

"Say no more." Octavius said, a small smile playing on his face. "I know what you're going to ask. There's a spare bedroom down the hall."

"Thanks a lot." Curt said, smiling now. "I'd stay with her sister, but we've... never been on such good terms."

"I see why you wouldn't want to, then."

The room was silent until Curt said, "Wait a second. You said there were several new cases of mutations." He looked over at Carolyn and said, "Are you telling me more and more of these people are being born every year?"

"Yes. Every month, we hear of at least ten or twenty new cases. And the numbers are rising." she replied. "Now, I don't much believe the hypothesis that they're the next evolutionary step. But I can tell you this much; if it keeps going at the current rate, in about fifty years or so, they may number in the millions."

Curt gave a low whistle, and Octavius said, "So they would be just as commonplace as normal humans."

"Exactly." Carolyn finished.

"This is incredible." Curt said, with a stunned expression on his face. "Now, I thought I knew a lot about how the human genome worked, as I'm in the field of biology myself, but I've _never _heard of this before!"

"That's because you're not a geneticist." Carolyn replied. "You don't specialize in the study of the human genome. But I'm not surprised; the study of genetic mutations resulting in superpowers is still a relatively new science. Not many people, not even those in the field of genetics, _have_ heard of it."

"So, at the rate this is going, incidents like this may become more commonplace." Curt said.

"If the people born with the gene believe that makes them superior, then yes." she replied. Octavius looked over at Curt and said, "There's going to be a lot of potential research into that field. Maybe you ought to check it out."

"Perhaps." Curt said, before falling silent.

They were all silent before Rosie said, "...I'm going to go grab something. I'll be right back."

She left the room and Octavius said, "Probably going to grab that book of poetry she's been reading. She probably feels completely lost by now."

"Yep, that's pretty much it!" Rosie said from the other room, and Octavius couldn't help but laugh at this. "I mean, I'm sitting at a table full of geniuses, and I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Come on, you know me." Octavius said. "It's not often I get to have a discussion like this."

"I know." Rosie replied as she took a seat at the table with her book. "Why do you think I sat silent for so long? I have to say though, it's awfully frustrating when I have no idea what's being discussed."

Octavius knew she was only joking; the look on her face gave it away, if nothing else.

"When you're an English Lit teacher sitting at a table of scientists, I think that's bound to happen." Carolyn said, shrugging, before looking at Octavius. "She... is an English teacher, right?"

"That's right." Octavius replied, a small smile on his face. "This is why I find it funny that she fell in love with a scientist."

"Maybe so, but you're my scientist." she said, reaching a hand over to ruffle his hair. "Besides, you've got more personality then most poets I've met."

He caught hold of her hand and said, a smirk on his face, "Not funny."

"I thought it was." she said, a coy grin on her face.

"Well, I think I'm going to head home for the evening." Carolyn said as she stood up and grabbed her coat off of the back of the chair. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you in the morning, Carolyn." Octavius said, before looking back at Rosie, who was looking at him with a smirk on her face.

"What is so funny now?" he said, a smirk to match hers crossing his face.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you are such a nerd." she said, putting her arm around his shoulder. "I had no idea what you three were talking about, and yet you were in your element."

"I usually am, when in the midst of a scientific discussion." he said, laughing. "Maybe I am a nerd. But then again, so are you, when you're talking about poetry."

"Touché." she replied.

It was then that Curt said, "I think I'll retire for the night. It's been a long day." He stood up and said, "I'll see you in the morning."

He walked down the hall towards what was to be his room, and Octavius said, "Do you think what she said was true, though? About the rise in mutations?"

"I honestly don't know." she said. "Personally, I'm rather tired, myself. I'm going to bed." She stood up and started to walk towards their room, but she turned around and said, "Join me?"

"Just a minute." he said, thinking about something. Maybe this _was _something to worry about, if the number of superhumans who were born with their powers increased?

He decided to think about that later, following Rosie down the hall.

xxx

Meanwhile, in that building downtown, the mastermind was sitting at his desk, his feet propped up on it, looking through a file folder of some sort. He was waiting for another of his subordinates to arrive.

He had just thrown the folder back on the desk when the subordinate walked in, a serious expression on his face. He took up position in front of the mastermind's desk and said, "I'm here, as requested."

"So I see." the mastermind said, taking his feet off of the desk, looking up at the man. "It took you a bit longer to get here than I expected it would."

"It was a long flight from Russia." the man said, eyebrow cocked. "And it _was _short notice."

"Understood. Any trouble getting past airport security?" the mastermind asked.

The man scoffed and said, "With my talents? It was child's play."

"I figured as much." the mastermind replied, a smirk on his face. "Your assignment should be just as easy." He opened the file folder he had been perusing earlier and turned it towards the man. "I know you recognize _him_, don't you?"

The man looked down at the picture, and the mastermind could see the flash of anger in his eyes.

"Ah, yes. Dr. Otto Octavius. I remember him all too well."

"This is why I called you to carry out this assignment." the mastermind said. "I want you to eliminate him. He has been a thorn in my side for far too long. I want him finished!" He slammed his fist on the desk to punctuate this outburst.

"When do you want it done?" the man asked, making sure he had his pistol in his jacket.

"Within the next twenty-four hours."

"It will be done." the man said, nodding.

The mastermind said, "I know. That's why I entrusted this assignment to you." He leaned forward and said, "I know the animosity you have towards him, Smerdyakov. Do _not _let it endanger your mission. You're dismissed."

The man named Dmitri Smerdyakov left the room, and the mastermind leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

_Soon, it will be over._

_xxx_

Octavius woke up that night, crying out at something. It had been a while since he'd had _that_dream; it had always scared him pretty badly.

"It was only a dream..." he said to himself as he pushed himself upright, running a hand through his hair, feeling the cold sweat that had broken out across his forehead. "Only a dream..."

"What happened, dear?" Rosie mumbled, only half awake, as she sat up in bed.

"Oh, nothing..." Octavius said unconvincingly. "It was nothing..."

"You had the dream again, didn't you?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes." he admitted, pushing the images out of his head. For the last year or so, he'd been haunted by the same dream; a man in a mask, wielding a machine gun, gunning down everyone he had ever known while he watched, captive. The masked man then turned the gun on him; in a burst of light and a flash of pain, he was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His attacker strolled up to him casually and ripped his mask off, and the last thing he saw was the smug and satisfied face of Norman Osborn...

"Oh, Otto..." Rosie said sadly, knowing how badly that dream always affected him. "I know how that dream always gets to you. But Osborn's in prison. He can't hurt you now."

She put her arms around him and rested her cheek on the top of his head. "You have to stop worrying about him, dear. He can't do anything to you or to anyone of us. Not anymore."

"I really want to believe you." he said. "But locking him up... it just seems too easy. I can't help but shake the feeling that he's going to find a way to interfere in my life again."

Rosie just sighed and put her hand to the side of his face, gently turning him so he was looking her in the eyes.

"Otto, look at me." she said softly. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise."

With nothing else to say, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. It was a moment before he could bring himself to kiss her back. She seemed to always know when he needed that little bit of assurance.

But that feeling of lingering danger still gnawed at him.

xxx

_The next day..._

It was evening by now. It had been a slow day in the lab, and there was a storm threatening to break over the city, dropping inches of snow on the streets.

By now, Octavius had called it a day with his experiment, and he, Rosie, and Curt were upstairs, in the middle of dinner and a discussion of last night's topic.

"Think about it, though. What if she's right?" Curt said, worried about the situation with the growing number of mutations occurring in the population. "What if we wind up with an entire race of these people? Can you imagine what that would do to this city? The number of superhuman criminals would be outrageous!"

"I know. Don't you think I've thought about this?" Octavius replied, leaning back in his chair. "This city already has the highest number of superhumans in America. And if more and more of these people keep appearing, I can't help but wonder what that would mean for the world."

Rosie yawned and said, "I think it's out of our hands, really. I mean, from what I gather, you can't help whether or not you're born with it. And by the time it gets that serious, we'll all be dead."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Octavius said, looking over at her. "Not much use worrying about it then, is there?"

"Not really." she said, putting her book down. "This is why I'm glad I'm not too deep into this discussion. I don't have to think about it much."

"Well, how do you expect us to react to it?" Octavius asked, eyebrow cocked, a smirk on his face. "We're both scientists. This is what we do."

"I'll accept that as an excuse then." she said as she gave him a peck on the cheek. "Just don't get too lost in discussion that you can't find your way back to reality."

"I'll try, but I'm not making any promises." he replied, when all of a sudden, he heard what sounded like footsteps on the roof.

"Is... someone up there?" he said, a note of uncertainty in his voice. The three of them fell silent as they listened, but they heard nothing more.

Had they looked out the window, however, they would have likely seen something most alarming...

On the roof of the building across the street, a masked man had taken up position, a rifle in hand, looking into the window.

_I've __been __waiting __a __long __time __for __this. _the man thought. _It's __my __time __now._

He picked up his rifle, positioning it right, his finger tightening on the trigger…


	4. Blitzkrieg

**Chapter Four: Blitzkrieg**

By this time, Octavius, Rosie, and Curt were in the dining room, talking over dinner. They were discussing the possibility of the mutant population going up to epidemic proportions, perhaps taking over the city. Rosie was trying her best to follow the conversation, and Octavius and Curt were trying to keep it simple for her. They knew she didn't quite understand it like they did.

Suddenly, a gunshot split the silence of the night, and the window shattered inwards shortly after. The bullet lodged itself in the table, splintering the wood.

"We need to get out of here!" Octavius shouted before the gunman took another shot at him. Rosie and Curt ran for the stairs leading outside, while Octavius ran downstairs to find his actuators. If the gunman was out to end his life, he'd give him a fight, first!

He found them in short order, put them on, and ran out the front door, noticing a man with a ski mask on his face, and an automatic rifle in his hands, atop the roof across the street.

_Just __like __in __my __dream__…_ he thought, his heart rate speeding up as the images in his dream flashed through his consciousness. _This __can't __be __happening__… __not __for __real__…_

"Aw, did I miss?" the rifleman shouted, a mocking tone to his voice. "I'll have to fix that." He took aim with his rifle again, but before he could pull the trigger, Octavius had started to climb the building face, to attack the gunman himself.

"Why do you people keep interfering in my life?" Octavius shouted as he snatched the rifle from his hands and threw it from the rooftop, before attacking the gunman, who managed to leap out of the way before the enraged scientist could grab him.

"I'm simply following orders." the gunman said, in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, before somersaulting over Octavius' head, landing behind him, reaching for a pistol in his jacket.

Before he could pull the gun out, Octavius had a hold of him and had thrown him across the rooftop, watching as he hit the side of a nearby building and fell to the rooftop.

"Whose orders are you following?" Octavius shouted, walking over to him and picking him up by the collar of his jacket with an actuator, rearing his fist back to strike the gunman if he gave an unsatisfactory answer.

"You think I'm going to tell you?" the gunman said, prompting Octavius to snarl and strike him in the head.

"TELL ME! _NOW!"_

"Why would I do that?" the gunman said, right before Octavius struck him again.

"Because if you don't, I'll keep hitting you until I get the answer I want!" Octavius shouted in his face. "I am _tired _of getting caught up in _all _of these situations! _What _do you people _want _from me!"

The gunman merely laughed and said, "You want an honest answer? For you to be six feet under."

At that, Octavius threw him back against the wall as hard as he could, watching as the gunman hit the wall, cracking the bricks. Strangely enough, he didn't appear to be injured at all by any of this. Could it be that he was one of these 'mutants' that Carolyn had mentioned just yesterday? Was that why he was wearing the ski mask?

He reached down to the top of the gunman's head, putting his hand atop the ski mask he was wearing. Without so much as a warning he ripped it off of his assailant's head.

"Dmitri Smerdyakov?" he shouted, surprised. "How can this be?"

Smerdyakov laughed and said, "Surprised to find that I am still alive? Did you think I was dead?"

"You're not supposed to be here!" Octavius replied, picking him up and throwing him across the rooftop again.

Smerdyakov merely twisted himself in midair and landed on his feet, then said, "You can see for yourself that I am alive. Unfortunately, the only reason for this is because I had to ensure my cooperation in one of the SVR's superhuman transformation experiments… _as __the __subject!"_

"You mean to tell me you were used as a human lab rat?" Octavius asked. Despite the fact that Smerdyakov had just tried to kill him, he couldn't help but ask.

"Yes! I was subjected to the most painful of experiments, as they transformed me into one of their superhuman assassins! And all because you and that Lizard-man came over there and wrecked my boss' plan! Either I agreed to their experiment, or I would have been executed!" Smerdyakov shouted, fists clenched, the anger showing on his face, or what passed for his face.

"It's not my fault this happened to you!" Octavius replied, on the defensive, in case Smerdyakov decided to attack again.

The Chameleon did not reply as he charged towards Octavius, catching him in a flying tackle, but not being able to do much more than that as he was flung away. Smerdyakov got to his feet and, strangely enough, ran towards the edge of the rooftop, actually leaping off into the empty space, seemingly towards certain death.

Octavius could only watch as the Chameleon hit the ground, rolled to his feet, apparently unhurt by the five-story fall, and ran for his rifle, screaming, "Come and get me!"

At this challenge, Octavius flung himself from the rooftop, landing on all four actuators at ground level, also unhurt by the fall, and snatched up the Chameleon with an actuator, smacking him in the chest with another.

The impact flung the Chameleon through the window of a building across the street from the lab. He came back out with an infuriated snarl fixed on his face as he screamed, an incoherent howl of fury, once again catching Octavius in a tackle, knocking him to the ground, landing a few blows that must have hurt.

Octavius flung Smerdyakov away from him and stood up, holding his left side with a human hand, a similar look of fury on his face as he reached for his enemy with all four actuators.

The Chameleon leaped out of the way and said, mockingly, "Did that hurt? I hope it did!"

Octavius grabbed Smerdyakov by the neck with an actuator, pinning him to the ground, screaming, "It didn't hurt nearly as bad as what I'm going to do to you!"

xxx

Meanwhile, the mastermind was watching the entire situation over a crude video feed, watching how the fight was progressing. He saw everything, as the Chameleon broke free of the grip Octavius had on him, got to his feet, and tried once again to attack, only to be struck back down.

"What are you doing, you fool!" the mastermind shouted at the Chameleon, knowing that, while his subordinate could not hear him, that maybe he would get his act together and finish Octavius off before the police showed.

xxx

By now, the fight with the Chameleon had been going on at ground level for close to ten minutes. The storm that had been menacing the city had finally broken, and the snow was falling heavily now. While Rosie and Curt stood in the entrance to the back alley behind the lab, Octavius and the Chameleon were now pounding on each other relentlessly in the street, endlessly exchanging blows, both of them fighting exhaustion by this point; neither of them willing to give in until the other was down.

"Why did you come back?" Octavius shouted as he struck the Chameleon in the head with an actuator, before throwing him into the air. "You _know _I wasn't the one who did this to you! I didn't make you become a monster!"

The Chameleon merely twisted in midair, landing on his feet, running towards Octavius again, only to be struck back down. "Because you were responsible for that entire fiasco! You came over there, looking for her! _You _were the reason she escaped us in the first place! If I hadn't been sent out to look for her, I'd never have run into you! Your lizard friend wouldn't have shot me!"

"You're not talking sense, Smerdyakov!" Octavius shouted, picking him up with a tentacle and throwing him into a wall. "I didn't make you pull a gun on me! That was _your _choice! He shot you because you were going to do the same to me!"

The Chameleon hit the wall with a resounding THUD, before falling to the ground, momentarily stunned.

"No, but if you hadn't threatened me, I wouldn't have pulled it out!" he said as he got to his feet. "Your lizard friend _did _have a choice, and he chose to try and kill me!"

At that, Curt took a step back before the Chameleon spotted him, but he stepped on a piece of broken glass, which shattered with a loud CRACK!

Unfortunately, this served to get the Chameleon's attention turned toward him, and he froze in mid-step.

The Chameleon looked over at Curt, and a moment later, a look of enraged recognition crossed his face.

_"YOU! _You were the one that shot me!" he shouted as he dove for his rifle before Curt could make a run for it. Picking it up, the Chameleon shouted, "You cost me a lot in that incident! You nearly cost me my life!" He cocked the rifle and shouted, _"NOW __IT'S __YOUR __TURN!"_

All at once, Curt turned to run away, Octavius reached towards the Chameleon with an actuator, hoping to wrestle the gun from his hands…

…and the Chameleon pulled the trigger.

The gunshot split the night like a small explosion, making both Octavius and Rosie drop to the ground out of instinct. When they finally looked up, they looked over at Curt.

He was standing on the sidewalk, a large red spot forming on his shirt, clutching his chest, the color drained from his face. He fell to the ground without as much as a word.

_**"NO! **__**CURTIS!" **_Octavius screamed, horrified, looking over at his friend, who was now lying on the ground, a pool of red forming underneath him.

He turned on the Chameleon, screaming, "DAMN YOU! _DAMN __YOU! __WHY?" _He grabbed hold of the Chameleon, driving him face first into the nearby wall as hard as he could, hitting him with fists, actuators, beating him mercilessly. He could not even hear Rosie, screaming for him to stop, screaming that this wasn't the answer. He did not stop until the Chameleon was lying on the ground, his lifeless body battered nearly unrecognizable.

Octavius ran over to his fallen friend, where Rosie was already knelt beside him, trying to stop the bleeding. Curt was still alive, but barely.

"Curt, hold on!" Octavius said, as he started to pick his friend up. "We're going to get you to a hospital. Just hold on!"

Curt opened his eyes and looked up at him, struggling to breathe, but he spoke anyways.

"N-No… it's… too late…" he managed to say. "I… I'm not… going to make it…" he gasped for breath as he closed his eyes.

"Don't say that!" Octavius said, trying to figure out what could be done. He couldn't just let his friend die like this! "We're only a few blocks from a hospital. We can-"

"I'll… never make it… that far." Curt said as he opened his eyes once more. Beside him, Rosie was already crying, her head dropped down, looking at the ground.

"Oh, God…" Octavius whispered, accepting that it was no use trying. He knew as well as his friend did that there was no hope for him now. "I'm going to find out who did this. I'm going to find the mastermind, and I'm going to kill him."

Curt shook his head as he raised his hand weakly, placing it on Octavius' shoulder.

"T-There's… no reason… for you to put…. yourself in danger…" he said quietly. "Otto… don't do anything… stupid… there's… no reason… for two of us… to die…"

"I can't let them get away with this!" Octavius said, a strong note of anguish in his voice. "They've gone too far this time!"

"No… don't… endanger yourself…" Curt said, barely able to speak now. "Revenge… is like a poison… don't… succumb to it…"

Those were the last words he ever spoke as he fell silent, his head slipped to the side and his hand fell from his friend's shoulder. He was gone.

"No…" Octavius said, barely audible, as the tears fell from his eyes. "…why? Why did this have to happen?" He cradled his friend's broken body in his arms as he sat in the alley, unable to control his emotions any longer. "Why did it have to be you?" He looked up at the raging storm overhead and screamed, _**"WHY **__**COULDN'T **__**YOU **__**HAVE **__**TAKEN **__**ME **__**INSTEAD?"**_

Beside him, Rosie was weeping, her head in her hands, not wanting to look at the man who had so much to live for, and who had lost it at the hands of a cold-hearted killer. And after she had promised Otto just last night that nothing would happen…

Octavius looked back down at his friend and said, his voice shaking with rage and grief, "I swear to you, if it takes me until the day that I die, I will find the man responsible for this. I won't let him do this to anyone else."

He sat there for an indeterminate amount of time, holding his friend in his arms, the storm raging around them as if to accentuate the emotions of the grief-stricken man, the broken scientist… who now had full intention of destroying the man behind this plan… no matter the consequences.

"Rosie, I need you to go call Martha Connors." he said, gently laying his friend's body back on the ground. "She needs to know about this as soon as possible."

Rosie merely nodded and got to her feet, walking back into the lab, still sobbing. Octavius did not yet make a move to get up, even as he heard police sirens screaming towards the lab.

When the sirens wound down and the police cars stopped, Octavius was still sitting beside his friend, looking down at the ground, unable to bring himself to look at the officers who had began to seal off the area.

Among the officers was Detective John Briscoe of the Ninety-second Precinct. He appeared to be leading this particular soon-to-be investigation.

He walked up to Octavius and asked, "Can you tell us what happened, here?"

No response.

"Look, I need you to tell us exactly what happened." Briscoe said.

Octavius glared up at him, got to his feet, and snapped, "What does it_ look_ like? There's a man here with a gunshot wound in him and another dead man over there! Isn't it obvious! You're the cop, here!"

"Easy, Doctor!" Briscoe said, taking a step back. "There's no need to get angry!"

"I have every damn right to get angry!" Octavius shouted as he took a step forward, actuators writhing behind him. "My best friend is lying there dead because of that man-" here, he pointed towards the body of the Chameleon, "-right there! We were easily fighting for over _fifteen minutes!_ You mean to tell me you couldn't get here any sooner? We could have saved him, but _you _took your time getting here!"

"Calm down!" Briscoe shouted in reply. "This isn't helping the situation any!"

_"Don't you tell me to calm down!"_ Octavius screamed, giving Briscoe a good shove with an actuator. "I am far beyond that point, now! Because of _your_ ineptitude, my only friend in this entire world is dead!"

Briscoe stumbled to keep his footing and said, to two nearby officers, "Alright, cuff him and put him in the back of the car until the captain gets here. Maybe he can figure out what to do with the Doctor."

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Octavius said as the two cops walked towards him. He took a step back, but the two officers grabbed hold of him anyways. He tried to thrash his way free of their grip, but they managed to force him to the ground and get his hands behind his back.

**_"GET OFF OF ME!"_** He shouted, as he continued to try and fight his way free of their grip. "I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!"

Just then, Rosie walked out of the lab. Catching sight of what was happening, she ran over to him and said, "Otto, _what_ are you _doing?_ This isn't helping the situation!"

"I'm assuming this is your husband?" Briscoe asked her, looking down at the still-enraged Octavius with a cocked eyebrow.

Rosie did not respond as she said, tears streaming down her face again, "Please, you have to calm down. This really isn't helping the situation." She put one hand to the side of his face gently and said, "We can get through this. Just don't make the situation worse. Please."

At her words, he stopped struggling, all the fight suddenly gone out of him. The two officers helped him to his feet and put him in the back of the car. Briscoe asked him, pointing towards the Chameleon, "How did he get killed?"

Octavius did not respond.

"You're just not going to talk to me, are you?" Briscoe asked, leaning against the car. "Look, if you killed him, you can tell me. It would be better for you to tell me now than to have us try to reconstruct this entire scene only to find out later."

Still, no response.

Briscoe was about to say something else, but then Capt. Stacy arrived on the scene, his own siren splitting the night as he pulled up.

He got out of his own car and walked over to Det. Briscoe.

"I got here as fast as I could. What's the sit-"

His voice trailed off in mid-sentence as he caught sight of Octavius in the back seat of the squad car, his hands cuffed behind him, looking down at the floor, a scowl on his face.

"Excuse us for a minute, Doctor." the Capt. said, pulling Briscoe aside.

"Why is he in the back of the cop car?" Capt. Stacy asked, confused. "Isn't he the one we're trying to keep _out_ of trouble?"

"Well sir, he won't talk to me, and we're trying to get information out of him-"

"Answer my question." Capt. Stacy ordered. "It is a very simple question, detective. Why do you have Octavius in the back of the car? When I got the call to rush over here, it said he was the attempted target of an assassination. You've got him handcuffed and shoved in there like he did something wrong."

Briscoe had to be careful of how to word this next statement. They were still within Octavius' earshot, after all.

"Well, I tried talking to him. He got angry and shoved me. And… I think he may killed someone here, tonight."

"Y-You what?" the Capt. asked, stunned.

"There are two dead people, here, as you undoubtedly saw." Briscoe replied, fumbling in his coat pocket for something. "One of them died by a gunshot wound. The other was beaten to death. And considering who the man who was shot happens to be…"

Capt. Stacy looked over at Curt. At what he saw, he was shocked all the more.

"I understand. I can see why you would think that." the Capt. said. "The two were very close friends. It seems likely that Octavius may have killed the other man in… What? A fit of rage, maybe?"

"That's what I was thinking."

"Let me try talking to him." the Capt. said, walking back over to the car.

"Doctor Octavius, I need to ask you a few questions about what happened. You think you can talk to me?"

_"You,_ I can talk to." Octavius replied, although he did not look up at him.

"Did you… well, the other man dead… was he your doing?"

It was several seconds before Octavius said, in a near whisper, "Yes. I… I killed him. It happened so fast… I didn't have time to stop myself."

The Capt. seemed genuinely stunned by what he had been told. He had never imagined that Octavius was even capable of murder!

"I don't know what came over me…"

"So it was like temporary insanity?" the Capt. asked.

"That's exactly what it was!" Rosie interjected, walking up to Capt. Stacy. "I saw the entire thing! I tried to snap him out of it, but it's like he was a man possessed! It's like he didn't even hear me!"

"I see. There's only one thing for it, then." the Capt. said, motioning for Briscoe to come over to him. "Release him."

"B-But sir! He killed a man tonight!" Briscoe stammered, dumbstruck. Since when would Capt. George Stacy release a man who had killed someone!

"He killed a man in a temporary bout of insanity. He killed a man who was sent to kill him." the Capt. said, a stern look on his face. "Even if we couldn't plead temporary insanity, we could plead self-defense. I said release him."

"But-"

"Am I speaking in a foreign language!" Capt. Stacy shouted, snatching Briscoe up by the lapels of his jacket. "I am ordering you to release him from custody this very moment, or I will have you fired for insubordination! Is this understood!"

"No." Briscoe replied. "But I'll do it anyways."

He opened the door to the squad car and took a step back as Octavius got out of the car. He undid the cuffs from around his wrists and, almost as soon as he did, Octavius grabbed hold of him and shoved him against the car.

"You had better not pull a stunt like that again." he snarled, a wild look in his eyes. "I have been through hell tonight. My entire life has come crashing down around me. I do not need people like you making the situation worse."

He released him and stormed back towards the lab, trying to hide the full fury of his emotions. How could anyone take this much in one night?

There was one thing, though, that he knew as much as he'd ever known anything: that the catalyst behind this great big master plan was going to pay.

And he knew that, as long as his name was Otto Octavius, the man with pay with his life.


	5. Unexpected Disappearance

******Chapter Five: Unexpected Disappearance**

_One week later..._

By now, the news of the incident had spread throughout the city. To the majority of New Yorkers, it was no big deal; someone was murdered every day. Most of the people in the city had already forgotten the incident.

But Otto Octavius would _never_ forget what had happened.

The funeral was a few days after the murder. That was sheer hell for him; surrounded by his friend's family, he had felt horribly out of place. But he simply couldn't bring himself to not go. The eulogy he had given had spurred the people in attendance to tears; he himself did not remember much of what he had said.

The last week had been a blur; he had been going about his daily routine in a distracted haze; he had not done any work on his experiment that entire time. For the most part, he had locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off. He had barely slept, either; any time he'd fall asleep, images of his friend's death had haunted his dreams. Twice now, he had woken up screaming, because of what he'd seen in his dreams. He had not spoken ten words since the funeral; he had only come out of his room a few times.

Finally, one night, Rosie entered his room, hoping to get him to talk.

She opened the door quietly and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head resting on his folded hands, staring at the wall. The cold stare on his face worried her; she had never seen him in this dark of a mood before, not even during the whole fiasco with Osborn two years ago.

She walked over to his bed, taking a seat beside him.

"Care to talk to me?" she said, concerned. "You've barely said a word to me the last week."

No response.

She sighed and said, "Will you please talk to me? You're scaring me, acting like this."

Still no response. He hadn't even looked over at her to acknowledge her presence in the room.

She put her arm around his shoulder and said, "Please, Otto, just talk to me. You're really worrying me."

"There's no need to be worried about me." Octavius said, in a bitter tone of voice. "I'm not the one who was shot down in cold blood."

"I know, but eventually you'll have to move on." she said carefully. She really didn't want to set him off; he already looked on the verge of a psychotic break as it was. "He was my friend, too, but we'll just have to continue with our lives."

"But he was the first real friend I ever had." he replied, finally looking over at her. "And I watched him die. He was killed because of a situation I got him involved in. How would _you_ like to live with that?

At that, she fell silent. He obviously believed he was responsible for his friend's death, and she had no words that were adequate.

"I mean, if I hadn't asked him to come to Moscow with me to find you, he'd never have been involved in that situation." he continued, his head in his hands. "He would still be alive now."

"You are not responsible for his death." Rosie said, trying to console him. "The Chameleon pulled the trigger. He is the one responsible."

No response.

"Why don't you come out here and have something to eat?" she said. "You've barely eaten anything in the last week."

Once again, he did not respond.

Finally, Rosie gave up trying. She stood up and walked towards the door saying, "Well, I'll be here if you want to talk." She shut the door, leaving Octavius in the room, lost in his own dark thoughts...

xxx

_11:47 pm..._

Meanwhile, the mastermind of the plan sat in his office, talking to one of his subordinates about the next step.

"Let me go over the situation again." he said as he put his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair. "So far, I've sent two of my mercenaries after the target. One of them is actually out in the field now, awaiting my orders, and the other is dead. But the death of the lizard-man has severely broken up our target. From what I've seen, he'll be out of it for a while. I am entrusting you to the task of eliminating him before he snaps out of his current state."

The subordinate, a tall, built man with black hair and a thug-like countenance, said, "I understand completely. I still remember the time we met in that prison in Moscow. He seemed really hard-headed. I can see why you think this is the best time to strike."

"Good." the mastermind said as he took his feet off of the desk and took a drink of his cognac. "Go there now. And if you come across his wife... you know what to do."

The thug-like man who, in the criminal world was known only as Kraven, walked out of the room, already looking forward to the task at hand...

xxx

_Midnight..._

Back at Octavius' lab, Rosie was determined to try and get him to talk. She walked up to his room, a plate of food in hand, and knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?"

No response. Of course.

She opened the door and walked in. What she saw, she wanted to believe was the light playing tricks on her.

Octavius was not there.

She dropped the plate and ran over to the bed, noticing a note, in his handwriting, left on the blankets.

_I'm going after the man responsible. Don't try to find me._

_-Doctor Octopus_

Rosie dropped the note and sat on the edge of the bed, in shock. She didn't think he was serious when he said he was going to kill the man responsible!

At that moment, she knew only one thing: that, if he tried to go after the mastermind, he was going to get himself killed. And she couldn't bear losing him!

She ran out of the room and over to the phone. She had to tell someone! But who?

xxx

_12:03 am..._

By this time, Carolyn Trainer had turned in for the night. It had been a long day for her, and she was already sound asleep.

Needless to say, when the phone rang beside her bed, she was _not_ amused.

She fumbled blindly on her nightstand for the phone, swearing badly when she knocked the lamp off the table, and finally found the phone.

"Yes, this is Carolyn Trainer speaking. Who's this? And why the _hell_ are you calling after midnight?"

She was rather surprised to hear Rosie Octavius on the other line, and even more surprised to hear that she was on the verge of panic.

"Carolyn, has Otto been over there at any point in the last hour?"

"No, he has not." Carolyn replied, grabbing the lamp off of the floor and turning it on, still half-asleep. "Why do you ask?"

"Because he's gone!" Rosie said, trying to stay calm. "He left a note on his bed saying he was going to find the man responsible for Curt's death, and not to find him!"

"He did _what!"_

"Exactly what I said!" Rosie said, pacing the floor. "He's going to get himself killed out there!"

"Did he give you any indication of what he's planning?" Carolyn asked, getting up and pulling her coat and boots on, prepared to head over there as soon as she got off the phone.

"No, he didn't! I-I'm really worried about him; I think he's completely gone over the edge!"

"I'll be right over. We'll talk about this there." she replied, hanging up the phone, running for the door.

xxx

Meanwhile, only a few blocks away, Octavius was standing atop a rooftop, thinking up a course of action. He hadn't the slightest idea who was behind the plan, behind the attempts on his life. But he knew that whomever it was, they knew him well enough to ping his other identity. They must have been watching him for quite some time; years, perhaps?

No matter what they knew, nothing was going to protect the mastermind when Octavius found him.

_Whoever this mastermind is, he's gone too far this time._

The thought of his friend's broken body crossed his mind, and his fists clenched at the mere thought of it.

He looked forward to tearing the man apart, piece by piece.

He hated to worry Rosie like this, but she just didn't understand his need for vengeance; she didn't know how much Curt's death had really affected him. He had already been pushed towards the edge by the constant thought of someone hunting him down, of being marked for death, and never knowing if or when it was going to come.

And now he'd been pushed over that edge, and there was no coming back from it. Not until the man responsible was six feet under.

_I've already killed someone once. I'm already marked as a murderer in the eyes of those who know me. What is one more going to do?_

He looked up at the night sky, the thick clouds blocking out the moon.

_I don't care who this mastermind is._ he thought, a hard scowl crossing his face. _When I find him, not even God Himself will hold me back._

_He's taken it upon himself to wage a war against the man named Otto Octavius..._

_...but what's going to protect him against the wrath of Doctor Octopus?_


	6. Unstable

******Chapter Six: Unstable**

_1:20 am..._

By this time, Kraven was perched atop a rooftop across the street from Octavius' lab, watching the situation going on inside. There were two women talking; the wife and a black-haired lady he hadn't heard of. He was waiting for Octavius to show himself, but he hadn't yet.

So he descended to ground level, ran across the street, and positioned himself outside the window, listening to the conversation inside...

xxx

"I don't understand it." Rosie said, pacing the floor. "Why would he just take off without telling me? I mean, I walked out of the room, and I was only gone for maybe half an hour, and he was gone."

"Maybe he just didn't want any interference?" Carolyn suggested, leaning against the desk, a mug of coffee in hand. "I mean, if he's going after a man he intends to kill, maybe he doesn't want to get you involved?"

"That's what I was thinking." Rosie replied as she stopped pacing and walked over to the desk, picking up the note. "But if that's true, why'd he tell me the alias he's using? I could find him that way."

"I really don't know. Did you call the cops? Maybe they can help to find him."

At that, Rosie mentally kicked herself; why hadn't she thought of that?

"No, I didn't... I guess I forgot to do that."

"You didn't think to call the police!" Carolyn said, looking over at her, bewildered.

"No, I was still panicking!" Rosie said, somewhat defensively. "I'll do that now, though."

She walked over to the phone and picked it up, dialing the number of Precinct Ninety-Two...

xxx

When the phone on Capt. Stacy's desk rang, his first thought was to throw it across the room. He was just about ready to leave for the night; why did someone have to call now?

He picked up the phone and said, "Precinct Ninety-Two, Capt. Stacy speaking."

"This is Rosie Octavius, and I have a problem..."

The Capt. had a bad feeling about that as he asked, "This is about Otto, isn't it?"

"Yes, he's gone!" Rosie said, a fearful tone in her voice. "I don't know where he's at!"

"How long ago did he disappear?" The Capt. asked.

"I'd say about an hour and a half ago. I'm worried about him; he just took off without telling me! He never does that!"

"Wait, he left by choice?"

"Yes!" Rosie replied, now sounding on the verge of tears. "He's going after the man responsible for his friend's death, with the intention to kill him!"

"What! Are you serious?" The Capt. asked, horrified now.

"I'm positive!" she said. She was crying now; he could hear it. "Someone has to stop him! I-I'm not sure he's even in his right mind! He's been extremely... unstable, I guess you could call it, for the last week! I think he's been pushed over the edge somehow!"

"Oh, my God..." the Capt. said, putting his hand to his forehead. He didn't want to think that Octavius was actually capable of murder; but then again, he'd killed the Chameleon a week ago. They had dismissed that as temporary insanity, but now he was hunting down another man with intention to kill...!

"We'll find him. I promise." he said.

"Thank you. But I have to ask a favor; if you find him, take me to him. I think I'm the only person who can talk sense into him, now."

I'll make sure of it." the Capt. said. "I'll call if I find out anything."

And with that, he hung up the phone. It would obviously be a while longer before he could go home tonight.

xxx

Outside the window of the lab, Kraven could not believe what he'd just heard. He came all the way here to eliminate Octavius, only to find he had already disappeared!

He got on his two-way and contacted the boss.

"Uh, boss? There seems to be a situation."

"And what situation might that be?" the mastermind said, annoyed.

"...Octavius isn't here. He apparently took off an hour and a half ago."

**_"WHAAAAAT?"_**

"Exactly what I said! I think he's coming after you!"

"FIND HIM! And pass this information along to the Vulture as well! We need an eye in the sky to find him, now!"

The mastermind clicked off, leaving Kraven to get in touch with the Vulture...

xxx

A few minutes later, the Vulture was flying low over the city, looking for the eight-limbed one who had eluded him a week ago. He still had a score to settle; after all, Octavius _had_ broken his nose when he struck him in the face.

"Any sight of him?" the mastermind asked over the Vulture's two-way.

"Nothing yet, boss." he replied. "I'm looking, though. Maybe I'm just in the wrong part of-"

He was cut-off in mid-sentence as someone, or something, snatched him out of the air. He barely had time to comprehend what had happened before both arms were pinned behind his back and he was being shoved face first into the nearest brick wall, further damaging his already broken nose. Whoever the man was, he did not want to be seen; he took care not to wander into the Vulture's line of sight.

"Alright, listen here, you sorry excuse for a man." the unknown figure said, in a low voice that he did not recognize, but in an accent that sounded vaguely familiar. "I want some information, and I'm going to get it. If not, I'll break more than just your nose."

"You think you're intimidating me?" the Vulture said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I've faced worse than-"

Whatever he was about to say turned into a scream of pain as the man who held him twisted his arm back, breaking it.

"As I said, I want some information. Next it will be your leg. After that, maybe your back. Are you willing to talk now?"

"Yes, yes!" the Vulture shouted, wishing that whoever had ahold of him would just get on with it.

"I want to know who has a hit out for Otto Octavius. Now start talking."

At that instant, the Vulture knew who had ahold of him, and he _really_ wished he would just die before the man did anything else.

"I-I-I don't know! I don't k-know his real name!"

"I know you know!" the man snarled, striking the Vulture upside the head hard enough to make him see stars for a moment. "Now tell me!"

"Don't do this to me, Octavius! I told you, I _don't know!"_

"You're _lying!"_ Octavius shouted as he threw him into the wall, evidently deciding that it didn't matter if the Vulture saw him. It was obvious that the Vulture had recognized him; he called him by name. "It is _never_ a good idea to lie to me, particularly in light of the way my last week has been!"

The Vulture impacted against the wall, momentarily stunned, not yet willing to get to his feet.

"I _really_ don't know!" Vulture shrieked, frightened out of his mind. "He uses an alias; he's never told me his real name!"

"What is his alias?" Octavius asked, snatching the Vulture up by the front of his bird suit, a cold glare on his face. "And again, you had better not lie to me."

"H-He calls himself the Scrier." The Vulture stammered, looking down at him. "He's got another man out looking for you as well, right now."

"And who might that be?"

"H-His name is Kraven. He was sent over to your lab to look for you."

**_"WHAT?"_**

"Yeah, the Scrier sent him there to eliminate you, but you were already gone."

"Is he still there?"

"P-Probably." the Vulture finished.

"You know, you should consider yourself lucky." Octavius said, that same glare still on his face.

"Why?" The Vulture asked, suddenly more afraid then he was mere moments ago.

"Because if you didn't tell me what I wanted to know, your death would have been a lot worse." Octavius said, before throwing the Vulture from the rooftop.

And with his arm broken, the Vulture was not able to fly himself to safety; instead, he hit the ground fifteen stories below, and was killed on impact.

Octavius looked down over the edge of the rooftop at the Vulture's broken body, knowing that he had done what needed to be done; the Vulture had seen his face and knew his name. He would have undoubtedly told his boss of the plan against him.

Still, the Chameleon had been one thing; the Vulture was only a nonentity; a cog in a much bigger machine.

_Then again, so was Smerdyakov, and look at all of the damage **he's** done,_ Octavius thought coldly before taking off in the direction of his lab, to catch Kraven before he managed to escape.

Or worse... before he decided to do something bad to Rosie...

xxx

Meanwhile, Kraven was still outside the lab. He had been awaiting orders from the Scrier on what to do next. Finally, the boss had contacted him with his next set of instructions: to eliminate the wife, and the black-haired woman with her.

He was waiting for the right moment to strike. Finally, the two women had turned their heads away for a moment, and he reared his fist back to break the window and enter the building.

But before he could strike, someone landed behind him, caught him by the fist, and threw him into the wall.

The two women turned towards the commotion, wondering what the sound was, but not daring to walk over to find out.

Kraven did not have time to react as whoever had attacked him picked him up and slammed him into the wall again.

"So, you must be Kraven." the man said as he dropped him to the ground, glaring down at him. "Might I ask what you think you're doing around here? Thinking about entering this building, are you? Maybe thinking about harming the people inside?" He picked Kraven up by the leg, holding him upside down, shaking him roughly. He finally brought him to his eye level, and Kraven could see the look of pure rage that had crossed his attacker's face. It stunned him, even more so than the fact that he was being beaten by the very man he had been sent to assassinate. "This was a horrible mistake on your part, _because I will not lose anybody else close to me! **Do you hear me!"**_

The mercenary could not respond as Octavius threw him into the air, before smacking him into the wall much like one would hit a baseball.

Kraven did not have time to even hit the ground as he was snatched out of the air by his assailant, who had started hitting him with both fists and actuators. The blows were coming so fast, and with such fury, that Kraven did not have time to throw a punch himself.

Finally, Kraven lay on the ground, at the feet of his assailant, unconscious and barely breathing. Octavius stood there for a moment, not noticing that Rosie and Carolyn were now standing at the window, staring at him.

"My God, I think that's Otto!" Rosie could be heard saying from inside the lab.

Octavius turned towards the window at the words, before he took off running down the side street, disappearing into the night.

Rosie ran out of the lab, trying to call him back, but it was no use. Octavius either didn't hear her, or just chose not to respond.

At that, she broke down in tears. She didn't know what it was, but there was something that was definitely not right with Octavius. She knew this for certain, now.

She stood there a minute before walking back into the lab. She really didn't know what else to do...

xxx

Octavius was several blocks away, having taken to the rooftops on the actuators, before he stopped to think about his current situation. He still did not have a solid course of action against the mastermind, who he now knew called himself the Scrier.

_First, I need a place to hide until this is over._ he thought, sitting on the edge of the rooftop. _I'll need a way to find the location of this 'Scrier' person. And I'll need to find a way to cover my tracks; surely the police have found the Vulture's body by now, and they'll know it's me who killed him..._

_...God, I've killed two, maybe three, people in the last week! What's **happened** to me?_

At that thought, Octavius picked up a nearby chunk of brick, knocked loose by the impact of the actuators on the roof, and threw it as hard as he could in frustration. He put his hand to his head and thought, _I may have done some things in the past, even though the end justified the means, and they dropped the charges, but they'll never let me off for murder! This could be the end of my career! This could mean the end of my life!_

_...well, I've come too far to back out now._ he thought, his head in his hands, unable to believe that the situation had come to this.

xxx

_20 minutes later..._

By this time, Rosie had set up the police scanner that she and Curt had set up during the fiasco with Osborn two years ago. She wanted to know if any new developments came up involving her husband, and she wanted to know if, or when, they found him.

She and Carolyn were currently upstairs, where they had set it up, sitting at the table, keeping an ear out for anything that sounded promising. They were talking as well, mostly to pass the time.

"You know, I have to ask..." Carolyn started, taking a sip of her third cup of coffee that night, "...has he always been like this? I mean, this determined? Enough that, in order to avenge his friend, he'd kill someone to do it?"

"No, actually." Rosie said, her head resting against her closed fist. "The closest he came was when he was fighting Norman Osborn two years ago. But he hadn't killed Osborn; merely defeated him, to turn him over to the police. But I think this incident was too much for him. Last time we talked, I got the impression that he believes he's responsible for Curt's death."

"Why would he think that?" Carolyn asked, a confused expression on her face.

"Because, a year ago, I was abducted by the Russian intelligence service." Rosie said. "Him and Curt came to Moscow to find me. In the process, Curt shot the Chameleon, because he was going to do the same to Otto. If Curt hadn't gone to Moscow, he wouldn't have even known who the Chameleon was."

"And Otto thinks he's the cause of it?"

"He asked Curt to come along. Because of it, he feels he's responsible."

At that, the two of them fell silent, just in time to hear a squawk come across the police scanner.

"...we have a one-eighty-seven in the Lower West Side, a man in a green bird suit found dead in a back street..."

The two of them listened closely. This sounded bad...

"...appears to have been thrown from the rooftop..."

"My God..." Rosie whispered, horrified. She knew only one man could have done this...

"...current suspect is Otto Octavius, who was spotted in the area..."

**_"NO!"_** Rosie said, standing up abruptly, walking over to the window. "He couldn't have done this! Please, tell me he wouldn't do this!"

The report wound down, but Rosie could still hear the words spoken in her head. He couldn't do this, wouldn't do this!

Would he?

"It has to be a mistake." she said, walking back to the table. "Otto wouldn't do this! I know he wouldn't!"

"Well, you did say he didn't seem right lately..." Carolyn said, unwilling to believe it, either. "Maybe he really has been pushed over the edge."

"But I know him! He couldn't!" Rosie responded, taking a seat, tears rolling down her face. "I don't understand..."

xxx

Meanwhile, having found an unoccupied apartment to hide for the night, Octavius had heard that report as well, having 'acquired' a police scanner from an empty squad car a few blocks away.

_Damn it! They already know it was me!_ he thought, shaking his head as he leaned back in the room's lone recliner, a glass of scotch in hand, the now-empty bottle lying on the floor. _Then again, how could they not? I'm pretty sure by now, the police know the situation with my disappearance; Rosie probably filed a missing persons report, or something._

He walked over to the window, a bit unsteadily, pushing the curtains aside, looking out over the city and the light snow now falling.

_Well, I suppose the first thing I ought to do is go around the city, searching for anyone who may know anything about him. Chances are, someone has to know his name, or at least where he lives. And if nobody knows, I may have to search the police records for anyone with the alias 'Scrier'; chances are, he's got a criminal record, and that alias may be on record somewhere... I'd probably be better off saving that as a last resort; I don't need to add breaking into a government building to my list of charges._

Satisfied with the plan he'd formulated, he walked over to the battered couch and flopped unceremoniously onto it, ignoring the sting of the actuators after having fallen directly on them. He hoped to be able to sleep peacefully tonight, but he knew that, more than likely, the nightmare he'd been having would intrude again.

Nevertheless, within twenty minutes, he was out like a light.

xxx

_In his dream, he saw the scene that night replayed; he saw the shot hit his friend, the stunned look on his face as he fell to the ground, lifeless, his eyes staring into nothingness._

_But in this dream, the man with the gun wasn't the Chameleon; it was Octavius himself!_

_And, throughout the dream, he could hear Curt's voice saying, "You did this to me... how could you do this? You cost me my life..."_

xxx

Octavius sat bolt upright on the couch in a cold sweat, screaming as loud as he could. It was a moment before he was able to calm himself down. He hadn't seen the dream played out like that before; that was worse than all the others had been.

He put his head in his hands, trying to block the nightmarish images from his head. He could still hear Curt's voice speaking in his head, a remnant of the dream that he could do without.

_I need to get out of here for a bit_. he thought. _I need to clear my head._

Making his way out of the apartment window that he had originally entered through, he silently made his way along the rooftops, keeping out of sight of those who were still out at this late hour of the night. He had hoped that, by getting up and into the cold winter air that night, that he'd be able to clear his head, but instead, the dream kept replaying itself in his head, getting more horrifying with each repeat.

"God, it won't go away!" he said, running frantically along the rooftop on all four actuators, clutching his head, overcome with panic. _"Make it stop!"_

Suddenly, he found himself falling towards the ground, five stories below. He had overshot one of his leaps and missed the next building entirely. He screamed as the ground rushed up to meet him.

But, instead of what would likely be a fatal impact with the concrete, he landed in a giant snow drift. Unfortunately, he landed wrong, and heard a sickening pop and felt a horrific flash of pain as his left shoulder tore loose from its socket.

His right hand shot up to his damaged shoulder, and he looked around through a red haze of pain, only vaguely aware that he was screaming. There were only a few people around.

But in his current state of mind, combining the pain of his injured shoulder, the adrenaline rush of having fallen from fifty feet up, and the entire bottle of scotch he had gone through earlier, he could barely think straight to come up with a plan of escape.

Still screaming, he did not yet make a move to get up, and he barely realized it when a man walked up to him and asked, "Hey, are you alright, buddy?"

"M-My arm..." he managed to say, shivering. "I-It's hurt... I think I broke it..."

The man looked concerned as he carefully helped the injured scientist to his feet. He said, "How'd you do that?"

"F-Fell from the r-roof..." Octavius said, trying to stay on his feet, cradling his dislocated arm. He was suddenly starting to feel very dizzy. "Oh God, my head... think I hit my head, too..." He shook his head to fight off the blackness that had started to border the edge of his vision.

"The _roof!"_ the man yelped, pushing his light blond hair out of his face. "Look, I can help. You don't look like you're in any condition to try and get to a hospital. My apartment's right over there-"

The man did not have time to finish his sentence as Octavius pitched forward, no longer able to stay on his feet.

The man caught him, gently laid him on the ground, and removed his sunglasses so he could look him in the eyes. He said, "Hey, can you hear me? You've got to stay awake. You've probably got a concussion. I'm going to help you."

Octavius opened his eyes, which the man noticed were bloodshot, and said, "F-Fine... just don't... don't try anything stupid..."

_Oh, God..._ the man thought as he helped Octavius to his feet once more, and escorted the very disoriented scientist to his apartment. _What have you gone through?_

xxx

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Octavius remembered was waking up on the couch, his arm in a sling, his trenchcoat lying on a table across the room. He had a ferocious headache; he was starting to think more and more that he had a concussion.

"You're awake? Finally."

At the voice, Octavius tried to sit upright, but the pounding in his skull intensified, and he laid back down quickly.

"Oh, God. This is not a good feeling at all..." he muttered as he put his hand to his head.

The man walked over to him and asked, "How you feeling?"

"Like someone struck me in the head with a sledgehammer." was Octavius' reply.

"Um, yeah, about that..." the man said. "You have a pretty decent concussion, my friend. I don't know what you struck your head on. Maybe it was just the force of impact?"

"You had better be joking." Octavius said, staring at the man with a look of disbelief.

"I wish I was." he replied as he handed Octavius a glass of something. "Here. I think it'll help with the pain."

Octavius took the glass, took a look at the contents, then handed it back to him.

"No, thank you. Think I've had enough to drink tonight as it is."

"If you say so." the man said as he drank the contents himself, then set the glass on a nearby table. "What's your name, anyways?"

There was silence for a moment before Octavius asked, "You promise not to call the police?"

"Call the police?" the man asked, confused. "About what?"

"Never mind." was Octavius' reply. "My name's Otto. Dr. Otto Octavius."

The man was silent a moment before a look of recognition lit up his face.

"As in the famous atomic scientist!" he asked, wide-eyed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No freaking way!" the man said. "I don't know why I didn't see the resemblance sooner!"

"I take it you're a fan?" Octavius asked, eyebrow cocked. Why did these moments of recognition _always_ come at awkward times?

"Oh, definitely!" the man said, shaking his hand. "My name's Brigham Fontaine. I've followed your work for years. This is awkward... what happened to you?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yeah, you're right, I probably don't." Brigham replied, taking a seat in a nearby chair. "But I still can't help but wonder."

"Well, I'd rather not elaborate." was Octavius' reply. "But there is one question I have to ask you: have you ever heard of a man who calls himself the Scrier?"

At that question, Brigham couldn't help but scowl, and his fists clenched as he said, "Yes, I've heard of him. He's responsible for the death of a good friend of mine."

At his response, Octavius was shocked. How many people had the Scrier killed over the years!

"Do you know of any information that might help me find him?" he asked.

"I wish I did." Brigham replied. "I'd love to be able to put a bullet in his brain for what he did to my friend. I take it he's done something to you?"

"He's got a hit out for me." Octavius answered. "I'm going to kill him. But I need some information."

"Well, I've got none, but I know of a man that might. He calls himself 'Louie the Snitch'. He's an underworld informant who used to be in the inner circle of organized crime. He usually works downtown. Maybe he'll prove useful to you."

"I sure hope so. Thanks for the tip."

The two of them were silent until Brigham said, "Well, I think it'll be safe for you to sleep now, and I'm quite tired myself. I'm not sure if you'll be here in the morning, so I'll just say right now it was nice meeting you, if under unusual circumstances."

"Likewise."

"Well... goodnight." Brigham said as he walked towards his room, flicking the lights off as he did.

Octavius laid there in the darkness, thinking on the situation. He now had another lead that he would most definitely follow first thing tomorrow.

But he could still hear the remnants of his earlier dream, replaying in his head.

_I'm trying to avenge you, Curt._ he thought. _As I said I would. Isn't that enough?_


	7. Knowing Too Much

******Chapter Seven: Knowing Too Much**

_9:07 am, Precinct 92..._

"So you say you were gone less than a half-hour, and he disappeared?" Capt. Stacy asked, scribbling the information that Rosie was giving him into a notebook with one hand, nibbling on a donut with the other.

"That's exactly it." Rosie said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "He just left. No warning, no anything, until he was already gone."

The Capt. wrote this down, and asked, "And you say he's most likely unstable?"

"I _know_ he is." Rosie said sadly. "He's barely spoken to me the last week, he's hardly eaten anything, he locked himself in his room and refused to come out, and he signed the note under the alias of 'Doctor Octopus.' He _never_ calls himself that. And now he's out to kill someone."

"It does sound like maybe he's been pushed over the edge." the captain said sadly. "I _hate_ to see someone like that, especially a man of his intellect. Do you have any idea who the man responsible might be?"

I haven't a clue." Rosie replied. "I don't think Otto does, either. But he's going to try and find out."

"How?"

"Again, I have no idea." she said, wiping her eyes again. "I know he doesn't have any contacts in the criminal underworld, so that's not how. I can't see him going around town beating up informants in bars trying to find out, either. I wish I knew."

Without warning, there was a resounding crash, and both the captain and Rosie looked over to find a large desk lamp knocked to the floor and Carolyn Trainer standing there, a half-cocked smile on her face.

"Sorry. Accident." she said, kneeling down to pick the lamp up. But before she did, she discreetly placed a small device in the base of the lamp; that was the purpose of knocking it over, as it was no accident. This was the reason she had come along when Rosie was summoned down to the station to give an interview; she had put the device together last night out of spare radio parts; it would allow her to overhear anything said in this office, meaning any new developments in the search for Octavius.

_Maybe it's criminal._ she thought as she placed the lamp back on the table. _But if we can find him first and talk him down, it will be worth it._

"Well, I suppose that's as much information as I'll need for now." the captain said as he walked towards the door, politely ushering them out. "I'll call if I get any new information."

"I know you will." Rosie said as the two of them walked out.

The two of them walked in silence for several moments until Rosie asked, "Do you know where he might be going to get the information he'll need? Or who it might be?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Carolyn replied. "But I know that I'll be getting the information a lot faster than the captain will be giving it to us."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know there are some things the captain won't tell us. So I hooked up a listening device in his office."

"You didn't!" Rosie said, shocked. Wasn't that criminal?

"Actually, remember when I 'accidentally' knocked the lamp over? Why do you think I did that?" Carolyn asked, looking at Rosie out of the corner of her eye.

Rosie couldn't help but be somewhat impressed by that.

_So devious... yet somehow ingenious._ she thought.

"And what if the captain finds it?"

"He won't know who put it there. It's a basic listening device used by many countries to listen in on confidential transmissions. Except that this particular device is modified to work by way of my technopathic powers. I can listen in directly, and the captain will never know."

Rosie did not respond to this. How did Carolyn even know _how_ to rig up a device like that?

_As long as it helps me to find him faster._ she thought, sighing. _We can't afford to let him kill someone else and wind up in prison._

_Or worse, to be killed first._

xxx

Meanwhile, in the lair of the man who called himself the Scrier, he was sitting at his desk, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, waiting for one of his assassins to show up.

_He's late, again!_ the Scrier thought, angry. _Why did I hire such **incompetent** henchmen?_

Finally, a man walked into the room. He had a frightening appearance; he stood at over six and a half feet tall, with bone white skin, and red eyes that could pierce an enemy's heart.

"You called?"

"Ah, yes. Mr. Lincoln." the Scrier said, nodding. "It's been a while since we've talked."

"A very long time." the albino said. "This is how you've forgotten that _nobody_ calls me Mr. Lincoln. I am known as Tombstone, now."

"Of course. How could I forget?" the Scrier replied, apologetically. "Anyways, I've got a job for you."

"An assassination?" the man named Tombstone asked, an evil glint in his eyes.

"Naturally." The Scrier pulled out a file photo and laid it on the desk. The picture depicted a woman, one of a rather exotic look.

"Her name is Rosie Octavius." The Scrier said, taking a sip of his cognac. "She is actually the wife of the man I'm hunting down. He's been in hiding." He tapped the picture with his pen. "I want you to find and eliminate her. I need something to draw him out. And I've always believed in destroying an enemy completely; physically, and psychologically."

"Understood."

"There's also been a black-haired woman who's been in the picture lately as well, by the name of Carolyn Trainer." The Scrier added. "If she's there, kill her as well. I _don't_ need extra witnesses in this."

Tombstone did not reply, but he nodded, a hint of a cruel smirk on his face.

"You will strike tonight. You're dismissed." The Scrier said, and Tombstone left the room.

_I tried playing nice with you, Octavius. Now those you hold close will go the same route you are about to go._

xxx

But even as the Scrier is trying to draw his enemy out, Octavius was headed downtown, trying to find the man Brigham had given him the identity of. Even though he had been given a general location, actually finding the informant was proving to be difficult.

_I'm looking for a man who calls himself Louie the Snitch._ Octavius thought as he traversed the rooftops looking for him. That alias… it sounds like something out of a bad mob movie. But if he can give me any information-

The thought broke off as he finally caught sight of the man. He was looking for was standing in the alley below, and he looked for all the world like a rat; someone who would know quite a bit about the criminal underworld.

Taking care to stay out of Louie's sight, Octavius descended the building as quietly as possible, hoping to sneak up on the snitch before he could make a run for it.

Luck was with him; Louie did not hear Octavius walk up behind him until he found himself shoved face first into a wall, his arms pinned behind his back.

"What the fu-" Louie started, but Octavius grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed him into the wall. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to shut him up.

"Watch your mouth. If you knew who you were talking to, you'd show a little more respect than that." he said, in a low growl.

Louie tried to turn around to get a glimpse of his attacker, but Octavius shoved his head back into the wall.

"Don't try to look at me. I just want a little information, and I'm _going_ to get it."

"Alright, man!" Louie said, shaking from fright. "That's what I specialize in! What do you wanna know?"

"I want to know any information you have on a man who calls himself the Scrier." Octavius said, still speaking in that low growl that was meant to intimidate the person he was speaking to. "And I mean _anything_ you might know."

"Hell, I don't really know much about _him!"_ Louie stammered. "All I know is that he's been around for about five years, dealing in a lot of illegal weapons shipments and, from time to time, ordering certain people assassinated to keep them quiet if they know too much. I heard he's been involved lately in the attempted assassination of a man by the name of Otto Octavius-"

"Yes, yes, I know _that!"_ Octavius said, rolling his eyes. Obviously that fact was clear as day to him. "I mean, who is he? Do you know who he might be?"

"Now that, I can't tell you!" Louie said, trying to pull away. "He keeps his identity under close wraps!"

Octavius could tell that this particular snitch was telling the truth; he was too afraid to lie.

"I can tell you the name of someone who might know." Louie continued. "He deals sometimes with a man called the Tinkerer. This Tinkerer guy does a lot of mechanical work for people, and occasionally he'll take in cases from the criminal underworld. This Scrier is one of his frequent clients."

"Where is this Tinkerer?" Octavius asked.

Louie gave him the address and said, "Alright, that's all I know, man! Can you let me go now?"

Octavius released him, but when Louie turned around to get a look at him, he was nowhere in sight.

_What the-?_ Louie thought, confused. _Was I just attacked by a ghost, or what?_

xxx

By now, night had fallen. Rosie was sitting by the police scanner, waiting for a squawk that sounded promising. Across the room, Carolyn was listening in on the connection she had rigged up in the captain's office earlier that day.

"Anything yet?" Rosie asked.

"If I'd heard anything, I'd have told you." Carolyn said. "I'm still trying to pick up something. I don't use these powers often... wait..."

"What is it?" Rosie asked.

"...I think I got something." Carolyn replied, holding up a hand to indicate that she was listening in on something.

Static, then, "...I'm almost there, boss. Another half block, and I'll have reached the lab."

More static, then, "...Good. As I told you earlier, in order to break an enemy, you have to destroy those closest to him, as well."

"...is that why you sent me after the doc's wife?"

"...Precisely. If Octavius thinks my vendetta is limited to him alone, he's about to get one hell of a wake-up call."

"Rosie, we need to get out of here _now."_ Carolyn said, but even as she did, the window shattered, and an enormous albino man jumped through the window, a nine-millimeter pistol in hand.

"Which one of you is Rosie Octavius?" he asked, an evil smile on his face.

The two women were silent before Rosie said, "I am her. Why?"

"Because you're Tombstone's next victim." he said, cocking the pistol and aiming it at her.

"You fire one shot at her, and I'll put a bullet in your brain!" Carolyn snarled, pulling out a pistol of her own; a .45, certainly capable of taking him down, if need be. Rosie ran for the door, Carolyn following behind.

"Get back here!" Tombstone shouted, giving chase.

"Oh, sure, come back to _you,_ because getting shot sounds _so much_ like the better option!." Carolyn said sarcastically, looking behind her at the albino.

At that, Tombstone fired off a warning shot and said, "STOP! I'm warning you! The more you run, the harder this is going to get on both of you!"

The two of them did not stop, of course, until they realized...

...they had run directly into a dead end, effectively cornering themselves.

"No!" Rosie said, terrified, as Carolyn leveled her pistol at the albino.

"You think I'm afraid of you, Trainer?" Tombstone said, a cocky tone to his voice.

"Never _asked_ you to be afraid of me." Carolyn said as she cocked the pistol. "I'm _telling_ you that it's advisable to be afraid of me. As soon as I figure out how the hell you know my name, maybe I'll decide whether or not to kill you."

"HA!" Tombstone shouted, laughing. "Now I'll just have to kill you both."

"As fast as you can pull that trigger, I'll have you on your back dead!" Carolyn snarled, and Rosie could not help but wonder how she was staying so calm. She herself was terrified, but Carolyn seemed to be in control of the situation. "I am _not_ afraid to pull this trigger! Even if you kill us both, you still have the dishonor of dying as well!"

Tombstone merely cocked an eyebrow and said, "That's a chance I'll have to take then."

At that, he aimed the pistol at Rosie and pulled the trigger. Rosie was too paralyzed by fear to move out of the way...

Fortunately, by the time she registered that the shots had been fired, Carolyn had already shoved her out of the way of the bullets.

Unfortunately, this put Carolyn directly in the path of the shots fired. She was hit by two of them, and she fell to the ground, unmoving.

"Oh my God..." Rosie whispered, horrified. Why did she do that? Carolyn must have known she would not be able to dodge the shots; why did she give up her own life to save Rosie's?

At that moment, an unholy rage overtook her, and she snatched up Carolyn's pistol and said, "GET AWAY FROM ME, GODDAMNIT! I will not hesitate to use this gun!"

Tombstone was shocked by Rosie's sudden bravado, but he shrugged it off.

"She was a non-entity in all of this." he said, indicating Carolyn with his pistol. "But now you can join her in death."

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, a squawk came over his two-way.

"Tombstone, return to base immediately. There is something else I need you for."

"But boss, the wife is still alive!" he said in protest.

"Forget her for now."

Tombstone sighed and said, "I will be back for you." He ran off and disappeared into the night.

Rosie stood there a moment more before kneeling down beside Carolyn. Placing the pistol beside her, she whispered, "Thank you... but why?" She stood up and walked back into the lab, placing a call to the police.

"Precinct Ninety-Two, Capt. Stacy speaking."

"Captain, there's been a situation."

A sigh on the other line. "Is this about Otto, again?"

"No, something else." Rosie said. "There's been an incident."

"What happened?" The Capt. asked.

"Someone was sent after me." she replied. "About five minutes ago, he broke into the lab, looking for me. His name was Tombstone, but I think that was an alias. He's gone now, but... he's claimed a life."

"Oh, no..." he said, and he could hear the sadness in his voice at the thought of another life lost. "And you say this was outside the lab?"

"Yes."

"We'll be over there in a minute. You can tell me everything there." he said, before hanging up.

Rosie put the phone down and walked back outside. What she saw surprised her. She expected to find Carolyn still on the ground where she had fallen, but strangely enough, she was gone. So was her pistol. There was a trail of blood leading off into a sidestreet, but when Rosie looked, no one was back there.

_Probably Tombstone, coming back to hide the evidence._ she thought sadly.

She was then startled by the sound of gunshots coming from a nearby street.

_And that's probably Tombstone claiming another victim._ she thought, shaking her head in disgust. She leaned against the wall, waiting for the police to show up.


	8. Strange Occurrences

******Chapter Eight: Strange Occurrences**

By now, the sun had come up over the city, momentarily breaking through the clouds. Octavius was heading down to talk to the man Louie the Snitch told him about yesterday.

_I really hope this Tinkerer knows who the Scrier is._ he thought as he knocked on the door, making sure there were no police around to see him.

It was a moment before the door swung open, and an old man was standing in the doorway. He looked to be about eighty or so years old, and he walked with a cane.

"What can I do for you?" The Tinkerer asked, looking up at him.

"I've come to ask you a few questions." Octavius said as the Tinkerer ushered him in. "I'm looking for someone, and I heard you've got... connections, so to speak... in the criminal underworld."

The Tinkerer looked around, as if to check to see if anyone was listening, and said, "Come with me. I think I might be able to help you out."

Octavius followed him into a back room. The Tinkerer shut and locked the door, walked over to the table that was set up, and poured himself a cup of tea. He asked, "Would you like a cup?"

"If it's not too much trouble." Octavius replied, looking around.

The Tinkerer came back to the table with two mugs of tea. He pushed one to Octavius and said, "Yes, I've got quite a few connections in the underworld. I myself am not involved in the activities that they carry out, but I supply the weapons, in a lot of cases. I get people sometimes asking me questions, as a result." He took a sip of his tea and said, "Who do you want to hear about?"

"He goes by the alias of the Scrier." Octavius said. "He's been hunting me down for about the last week and a half."

"Ah, yes, I do business with the Scrier on occasion. He's not the greatest person on the face of the planet, I agree, but then again, neither are a lot of the criminals I do work for." The Tinkerer said, rolling his eyes. "I take it you're Doctor Otto Octavius?"

At that, Octavius looked over at him and said, "Did he tell you of his plan against me?"

"As a matter of fact, he did." The Tinkerer said, nodding. "He was telling me about his plan, and he let slip that it was against you. Can't see what he'd have against you, though. I figured you were going to show up, looking for information. That's why I looked some up." He got up and walked over to a filing cabinet, grabbing a file off the top of it, walked back over to his chair, and handed Octavius the file. "I've been hoping somebody would smash this character. That's why I looked it up. His identity is not in there, I'm afraid. He's never told me what his name was. They usually don't."

Octavius looked through the file, trying to make sense of the information. He found a few of the Scrier's frequent contacts, the Vulture and Kraven among them, a list of his crimes, but nothing stood out as leading to his identity.

"He's been in several times, asking for bombs, all sorts of weaponry, and other things that I can't fathom what he'd use them for. He never comes in without something concealing his face, so I don't have a description, either." Tinkerer said apologetically. "Hope that information proves useful to you."

"Very much so." Octavius said, nodding. "This gives me some idea of where to look, at least. Thank you for this information."

"It's no problem whatsoever." Tinkerer said, just as the bell rang that said someone had entered the building. "I'm sorry, I've got business to take care of." He got up and walked upstairs.

Octavius sat there a moment, before he finished his mug of tea, stood up, tucking the file folder into his coat, and headed upstairs, leaving the building.

_Well, this is definitely going to help me greatly._ he said as he took to the rooftops, going through the file again, heading back towards his hideout.

xxx

Meanwhile, a few blocks from Octavius' lab, Capt. Stacy and his team were working a crime scene they had been called to last night. Someone found shot dead in an alley, two gunshot wounds in them.

Strangely enough, it was Tombstone they found shot dead.

"I don't understand it." Capt. Stacy said as he looked over the scene as his forensics team checked it out. "The only person I know of that got shot last night was Carolyn Trainer. So where'd _this_guy come from? And why haven't we found her yet?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Det. Briscoe replied as he lit up a cigarette. "Maybe we'll find out."

"I hope so. It's going to drive me insane until we figure it out." The Capt. replied, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall, keeping watch on his team.

It was at this point that a lady officer by the name of Jean DeWolff walked up to him and said, "Captain, we found out something."

"What did you find?" Capt. Stacy asked as he looked at Tombstone's body.

"Well, the bullet wounds on the vic's body came from a .45 pistol. He appears to have been shot from behind." Jean replied.

"I see. Anything else?"

"Not yet, sir. But we're looking."

"Thank you." Capt. Stacy replied. "Just keep me informed."

"Can do." Jean said as she walked away.

"This case keeps getting stranger by the minute, Briscoe." he said as he put his hand to his face, fighting off sleep.

"I know what you mean." Briscoe said as he took a drag of his cigarette, looking over the scene himself.

It was then that he noticed something odd; a trail of bloody footprints, leading off into another side street. He followed it, being careful not to disturb the rest of the scene, and said, "Captain? Something's _very_ odd about this scene."

Capt. Stacy walked over to him and said, noticing what Briscoe already had, said, "That _is_ odd. Think it's from our gunman?"

"Most likely." Briscoe replied, nodding. "We've already determined that Tombstone was killed instantly by the wounds inflicted, so they're not his. Besides, he had no reason to go back, and there's none leading back to this spot."

"Follow the trail." Capt. Stacy said. "See where it leads. Keep in touch with me."

Without replying, Briscoe did so, eventually turning onto another side street.

_This **is** strange._ Capt. Stacy thought, leaning against the wall again. _Very strange, indeed._

xxx

_Back at Octavius' lab..._

Rosie was still sitting by the police scanner, as she had been all night, listening for any report on where her husband might be. She was afraid for his safety, and for good reason.

_I've nearly lost him already, twice before._ she thought sadly, looking out the window at the sky. The sun had come out for a while earlier, before disappearing back behind the clouds._ I can't go through this again._

_Oh, **why** do people keep going after him? How does he get wrapped up in all of these situations?_

It was upsetting to her, how he seemed to be in the sights of every psycho out there. It just wasn't fair that he was always in some sort of situation with someone out to get him. It also seemed sad to her that innocent people kept getting caught in the crossfire.

_Why him? Why is it **always** him?_ she thought again, resting her head on her closed fist, fighting off sleep. It was going to be a long day, she knew.

xxx

Meanwhile, many blocks uptown, Octavius was in his hideout, leaning back in his chair, going over the files that the Tinkerer had provided him this morning. He was going over them carefully, looking for anything that may give him a clue as to the Scrier's identity or location. So far, he'd found nothing.

Taking a sip of his tea, he went back to the beginning of the file again, thinking maybe he may find something he missed.

_Surely there must be **something** here that can give me a lead?_ he thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly. _Why would he give me the file unless he thought it would be useful?_

The thought that perhaps the Tinkerer was actually working _for_ the Scrier crossed his mind, until he came across a page that he must have missed; it appeared to be a list of phone calls, all from one particular address.

_His hideout, maybe?_ Octavius thought, going through the list. _He's probably relocated by now. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check. And if that doesn't work, I've still got something, here._

He looked through the list, noticing some of the names on the list; some of them were aliases such as Tombstone and the Rhino, but some of them were real names.

And one name in particular stood out from the list, if only because it was one of the few to have an address beside the name.

_Quentin Beck? Sounds like the name an actor would take for himself._

He folded the paper up and slipped it into the pocket of his trenchcoat, before walking out the door, into the snow.

_Perhaps it's time to pay Mr. Beck a visit. See what he has to say on all of this._

xxx

_5:34 pm..._

As it turns out, Octavius was right about the name sounding like that of an actor; Quentin Beck was an aspiring actor and stuntman, still trying to make a name for himself. He had actually gotten off work at four am last night. He was fast asleep on the couch in his apartment.

This made it easy for Octavius to slip into the apartment without drawing his attention.

It was a lot harder for Quentin to ignore his presence, however, when Octavius snatched him up off of the couch, holding him upside down by his leg.

"LET GO OF ME!" Quentin shouted, throwing punches at his attacker, not succeeding in landing any, as Octavius held him at a considerable distance.

"Oh, don't worry, I will." Octavius replied, taking a seat on the couch, still holding Quentin up in the air. "I just want a bit of information on a man called the Scrier."

"I'll never talk!" Quentin snarled, struggling fiercely to break out of the actuator's grip on his leg. "I have no desire to die!"

"I don't think you understand the situation." Octavius said, standing back up, arms crossed over his chest. "When I said I want information, I meant that I am going to get it. Whatever your boss would do to you will be _nothing_ compared to what I will do."

"Man, who _are_ you, anyways!" Quentin shouted, a twinge of fear in his voice.

"You don't know of me? I'm disappointed." Octavius said, shaking his head, lowering his sunglasses to look Quentin in the eyes. "I was certain your boss would have told you about a man by the name of Doctor Octopus. Or maybe you weren't permitted to that information."

"So who does that make you!"

"Are you really as dense as you appear!" Octavius shouted, throwing Quentin into the wall. _"I'm Doctor Octopus!"_

"No! No way!" Quentin said, backing up into a corner. "I thought he, er, you, were just a rumor! I thought it was too farfetched to be real!"

"Well, nevertheless, I exist, and I want some information." Octavius said, sitting back down. "Now start talking."

Quentin made a run for the door, but soon found himself smacked right back into the wall.

"Don't do that. You'll only make it worse for yourself."

"Alright, alright, I'll talk." Quentin said, getting up and taking a seat at a nearby table. "The Scrier's got his hands in all sorts of illegal activity. He's been accused of assassination plots, illegal weapons shipments, numerous counts of kidnapping, and theft of intellectual property, such as schematics for various inventions and experiments."

_Now why does that sound so familiar?_ Octavius thought, his mind racing back to his last encounter with someone much like that... _But it can't be him; he's still in prison. So who else...?_

"He's been behind a lot of high-profile assassinations, usually against his rivals. Anybody he thinks poses a threat to his business is eliminated, no matter how prominent they are, and I heard-"

"Let me guess. You've heard he's got a hit out for a prominent atomic scientist by the name of Otto Octavius? Thanks, I obviously know that." Octavius cut him off, knowing where that particular remark was going.

"Yeah, I figured you would. I do know who you really are, contrary to what I said earlier." Quentin replied. "I'm not completely stupid. I was just afraid."

"Nice to know. Anything else you can tell me? Location of his headquarters, maybe? Or his real name?"

"I don't know the answer to either of those questions. I don't actually work for him anymore."

"Fair enough." Octavius said as he stood up, walking over to the window.

"Wait." Quentin said. "I know for a fact that there's a file on him down at Precinct Ninety-Two. His identity is certain to be in that file."

"And you're certain of this?"

"Positive."

"Thank you for the information." Octavius said, slipping his sunglasses back on, opening the window. "Just the same, you had better keep quiet about this meeting. If I find out you've contacted anybody about this, I will come back to kill you." With that said, he climbed back out the window and was soon out of sight.

"Like I would." Quentin said to himself, before walking back over the couch and falling back asleep.

xxx

_Well, that was rather productive._ Octavius thought as he stood atop a rooftop several blocks away. _It's getting dark out. I'd better return home for the night. I'm not going to attempt a break-in of the precinct until I've had time to plan it out properly. This isn't like shaking down some two-bit thug for information; I'd be breaking into a government building. I **don't** need to get caught._

He headed back towards his hideout, this thought in his head. How _was_ he going to plan a successful infiltration of a government building without getting caught?


	9. Impossibilities

******Chapter Nine: Impossibilities**

_Same day, 3:03 pm, Precinct 92..._

By this time in the day, Capt. Stacy was in his office, going over some of the details of the Tombstone murder. He was flipping through the man's file, looking for any possible suspects in his death.

_The man was an assassin, so he had to have quite a few enemies._ the Capt. noted, throwing the file on his desk, taking a sip of his coffee.

Then, Jean walked in the room, holding a sheet of paper.

"Captain, there's something _very_ strange about that scene."

"Now this, I already knew, Jean." Capt. Stacy replied as he looked back at the file he had been perusing moments earlier. "What did you find?"

"Well, I had one of the lab technicians do an analysis on several of the blood samples taken from the scene, and he found something rather odd; there were two different types of blood there. Whoever shot him was seriously wounded themselves. I mean, there should have been two bodies there, not just one." She handed him the paper and said, "There. See for yourself."

"Now that _is_ strange." the captain agreed after looking over the results. "Any possible suspects?"

"Not yet, sir. We're trying to figure that out now, but since it's so recent..."

"Right, we won't have any suspects yet." Capt. Stacy said, nodding. "Just tell me if you find out anything else."

"I'll make sure of it." DeWolff said as she walked away.

_Two people should have been dead?_ he thought, trying to figure something out. _I don't get it. We didn't find another body anywhere near the scene. Maybe it's simply because we didn't expect one, so we didn't look?_

_Or maybe there's something else going on here._

xxx

_3:41 pm..._

The Hole was a notorious bar in the city. It was known that a lot of the city's criminals met there for a drink, a game of pool, or whatever.

It was a normal day for most of the bar patrons.

However, that situation was about to change.

Everybody there was severely caught off-guard when the door exploded inwards in a hail of splinters, and a man entered the bar with a fixed look of anger on his face.

A few of the patrons ducked under their tables, thinking it was the police, crashing the party. Most of them, however, pulled out their guns and aimed at the man standing in the doorway.

"I suggest putting your weapons away, gentlemen." the man, who was clad in a black trenchcoat, with sunglasses hiding his eyes, growled, arms crossed over his chest. "You won't like my reaction if you don't."

A lot of these men in the bar had killed someone at one point in their lives. The lot of them figured this guy didn't matter; that killing him wouldn't be that big of a mistake. Many of them pulled the triggers on their weapons, gunfire splitting the silence that had settled over the room in the wake of the man's arrival.

When the smoke had cleared, many of them were shocked to find that the man was still standing, unhurt, in that same position, now with four metallic limbs writhing around him.

Of course, none of them counted on this man being none other than Dr. Otto Octavius.

"I told you that you would _not_ like my reaction if you did that."

Without warning, Octavius struck, the actuators striking down anyone within range; not hard enough to kill, but enough to get his point across. People were flying all over the place. But it wouldn't do to kill any of these non-entities; he needed them for the next part of his plan, after all.

Within minutes, the entire population of the bar was on the floor, stunned, a few unconscious.

"Now that we've gotten that out of the way..." Octavius started, walking further into the room, grabbing a bottle of scotch from behind the counter with an actuator and pouring himself a drink, "...I came to ask for a few of you to help me out with a little project of mine."

None of them spoke up for a moment, until one man asked, "Who are you?"

"That's not really important..." Octavius said, taking a drink and taking a seat on the surface of the bar, "...but for now, you can call me Doctor Octopus."

"What's the 'project'?" the same man said, standing up. "And what's it for?"

"That last question shall remain unanswered." Octavius replied, taking another drink, before setting the glass down. "But as to the first question, your part of the project is to provide a distraction. You would be breaking into a bank as your distraction."

_That should allow me to break into the precinct long enough to get the file, at least._

A few of them looked at each other, nodding.

"You would keep whatever you managed to steal as payment. I just need a distraction while I carry out my part of the plan. So, who's interested?"

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then the man who had spoken up earlier said, "I'm in."

"Me, too." said another man. Before long, about ten to twelve men had agreed to this plan.

"Excellent. I was hoping for a little cooperation." Octavius said. "Now, your instructions are clear; break into the East Village Central Bank at exactly midnight. I don't care how you do it, just keep the police distracted for ten to twenty minutes. If caught, _do not_ tell them who sent you. I _will not_ have my name connected to this. Understood?"

The men nodded their assent; they rather liked this plan.

"Remember, at midnight, exactly." Octavius stood up, finished his drink, and set the glass down. Without another word, he left the bar, leaving behind a very stunned group of men.

_That should take care of the officers at the station, at least._ he thought as he took to the rooftops. _Of course, the question is still if I'll actually find anything there._

xxx

_4:07 pm..._

"Captain! I've got a lead in the Tombstone case!"

Detective Briscoe had just run into Capt. Stacy's office with the news, and he looked somewhat pleased with what he had found out.

Capt. Stacy looked up from the case folder he was still going over and said, "What is it?"

"I followed the trail of footprints, which was rather long, by the way, through the back streets, and I found where the gunman must have finally fallen. I questioned the man whose apartment the gunman has to have collapsed in front of, and he came down to the station. Says he's got some information."

"Bring him in, then!" The Capt. said, glad that something was finally going right for a change.

Briscoe left the room, only to reappear moments later with a man who looked to be in his early fifties.

"I hear you've got some information for me?" the Capt. addressed the man. "What is your name, first?"

The man looked up at the Capt. and said, "I'm Mendel Stromm. Yes, I have some information on what happened."

"Could you tell me what it might be?"

"Yes. I'll start from the beginning. I went outside last night, and there was someone lying wounded outside my apartment, a pistol in hand. I wasn't sure of what happened, but it appeared that they'd been in a gunfight of some sort. But I took the person inside, to see if I could help. I'm a doctor, and I knew what to do. They wouldn't have made it to the hospital before blood loss became an issue."

"Yeah? And who was he?" Capt. Stacy asked, interested in what he was being told.

"Well, actually, the person was a she." Mendel corrected. "And I'm not permitted to tell you that."

"Right, the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing." the Capt. growled. How he hated that law right about now. "Can you at least tell me what she looked like?"

"All I can definitively tell you was that she had black hair and ice blue eyes. I'd say she was around five and a half feet. Other than that, I didn't pay much attention. She left early this morning."

"Wait... she's not at your place anymore?"

"We already checked." Briscoe said, still standing in the doorway.

"And you had no idea that the person you were hiding was a murderer?" Capt. Stacy asked, his voice edged with steel.

"N-No, I didn't!" Mendel said, in defense. "She said she couldn't even remember what happened to her! And considering the state she was in when I found her, that's not surprising!"

"Alright, I can give you that." the Capt. replied. "Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all I know." Mendel said, nodding. "Can I go now?"

Capt. Stacy nodded and Mendel left the room. The Capt. leaned back in his chair, bewildered by what he had just heard.

_Why does this person he described sound so familiar! This case is so damn frustrating!_

_Wait a minute._ he thought, an idea coming to him. _Now that I think about it, the more some of these pieces start to fit together. But... this should be impossible!_

_Still, it doesn't hurt to check._

"DeWolff? Could you come in here a minute?" he said over the intercom.

When she walked into the room, she asked, "What can I do for you, captain?"

"I need you to go down to the records room." Capt. Stacy replied as he picked up a pen and started writing something down on a nearby notepad. "Get me the file on Carolyn Trainer."

"What? Why?" DeWolff said, obviously confused. "You're not considering her a suspect, are you? If I remember right, Tombstone shot her. How could it be the other way around?"

"But we never found her, did we?" the Capt. replied, matter-of-factly. "Just get me the file."

DeWolff shrugged and walked out of the room. Capt. Stacy called Briscoe in the room next.

"I believe I may have a lead in this case. I need you to put out an APB. We're looking for a black-haired, blue-eyed female of unknown name. About five and a half feet in height." There was no need to tell Briscoe of his suspicions; what if he was wrong?

Briscoe did not reply as he walked out of the room.

_This really seems like it should be impossible._ Capt. Stacy thought. _But Sherlock Holmes once said that once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth. I'll find out my truth soon enough._

xxx

Elsewhere in the city, Rosie was still listening in on the police scanner, pacing the floor, still trying to catch a squawk about him. She hadn't heard anything promising in hours, and she was starting to get afraid. Not nervous, but afraid; it shouldn't have taken this long to find him! What if he had already been killed, and the police would never find him? Would she just worry like this forever?

Just then a squawk came over the radio; not about her husband, but intriguing nevertheless.

"...we have a nine-sixty-two, be on the lookout for a five and a half foot, black-haired, blue-eyed female of unknown name..."

Rosie stopped her pacing and walked over to the table, listening closely.

"...wanted for connection in the death of a man by the alias of Tombstone..."

Here, Rosie couldn't help but be shocked by what she was hearing. Tombstone had been killed last night? Was that the second round of gunfire that she heard after Tombstone left?

"...be advised, she may be armed, possibly dangerous. Approach with caution..."

Rosie was stunned at what she had just heard. She knew she should be glad Tombstone was dead; that meant he couldn't come back to finish the job.

But still, there was one thought that kept nagging at her. She dismissed it, knowing it was impossible.

_Could Tombstone have been killed by...?_

xxx

_Midnight..._

By now, the station of Precinct Ninety-Two was completely empty; they were all dealing with a situation occurring a few blocks away. The situation, of course, was the one that Octavius had devised to distract the police long enough to get into the files that may contain the information he needed to take the Scrier down.

But now came the hard part; getting into the precinct's database to find the identity of the Scrier.

He entered the precinct through a back door, after picking the lock with an actuator blade.

When he entered, he was surprised to find the precinct completely devoid of life; he had thought there'd be at least one officer watching over the place.

He made his way through the building, taking care to stay out of range of the security cameras, until he found the file room.

Picking the lock, he entered the room, disabled the security camera, and took a look around.

_Now which of these filing cabinets would contain files on anyone with a criminal record?_

He looked over at one of the cabinets, noticing the words 'criminal record files' written on a piece of paper taped to it.

_Perfect. That's just what I was looking for._

He walked over to the filing cabinet, opened it up and looked through the files. He found the names of several people he knew in it; the names of Mendel Stromm, Curt Connors (now that one surprised him greatly; he figured it must have been from the Moscow incident), and even his own name were all there. But nothing stood out as the Scrier's possible identity.

_There has to be another way of finding this out!_

He looked at the next drawer down; it contained files for those who went under aliases in the criminal underworld.

_...Talk about being obvious._

He closed the top drawer and opened that drawer, noting the names of people like The Rhino, The Lizard, and even Octavius' alias, Doctor Octopus, were all there.

_And here I thought I had kept that alias pretty well concealed from the police._

But tucked away in the "S" section, was a file on a man... called the Scrier.

With shaking hands, Octavius removed the file, but had not yet opened it.

_This could be it right here._ he thought as he opened the file.

When he saw who it was, his face went white and he dropped the file to the floor.

"No... no, he's supposed to be in prison... nonononono... it has to be a mistake..." he stammered, before the sound of footsteps made itself known to him.

He ran for the back door, leaving the file, with the picture of Norman Osborn staring out of it, lying on the floor...

xxx

Octavius was several blocks away from the precinct before he stopped running. He was completely unwilling to believe what he had just found out.

_How can **Osborn** be the Scrier!_ he thought, dumbfounded. _He's supposed to be locked up! There's no way he could execute this plan from in prison!_

Then, he heard the scuffling of boots behind him. He turned around to locate the source of the noise, but did not see anything.

_Was I followed? Why didn't I hear them sooner, if-_

He was not able to finish the thought as someone behind him wrapped a strong arm around his neck, trying to pull him back farther into the alley. He tried to fight his way out of the headlock, but whomever it was, they were inhumanly strong.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do this." the man hissed in his ear, in a voice that sounded way too familiar.

Octavius did not have time to retaliate as his assailant slammed a heavy object into the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. He laid there, black at the edges of his vision, as he looked up at the man who was even now standing over him, a downright sadistic smile on his face.

He did not have time to say anything as his vision went completely black, as the pounding in his skull at the impact subsided, and he slipped into unconsciousness, knowing that, chances are, he would not make it out of this situation alive…


	10. Damages Done

******Chapter Ten: Damages Done**

Octavius woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, lying on the floor of a room that was pitch black. He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his skull was so intense that it knocked him back down. The next thing he had noticed was that someone had removed his sunglasses when they put him in the room, which left him hoping that his attacker wouldn't turn the lights on.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. The lights flashed on, and Octavius howled at the pain, putting his hands in front of his face to block the light. He was not able to get a glimpse of the man who walked into the room next, but that voice... there was no mistaking it, or the self-righteous, cocky tone behind it.

"Doctor Otto Octavius, I presume?"

Octavius once again tried to stand up, this time managing to get to his feet. He leaned against a nearby wall, for support more than anything, and said, "You know damn well who I am, Osborn."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Osborn said, obvious sarcasm in his voice. "I forgot, you like to be called 'Doctor Octopus' now. I have trouble remembering sometimes."

"I could do without the sarcasm, thank you very much." Octavius snarled, wishing he could at least open his eyes, to see what Osborn was up to.

"And I could have done without the prison sentence that you brought upon me." Osborn said, a contemptuous tone to his voice. "I spent a year and a half in that cell, being subjected to the horror of the New York corrections system. A year and a half, spent in an asshole of a cell, my reputation ruined, because of _you!_"

"I didn't do _anything_ to your so-called reputation, Osborn! Your life turning out that way was your own doing!"

"I could say the same for you. How many people have you murdered in the last week?" Osborn asked, although he probably already knew.

"Only the people you sent to assassinate me!" Octavius shot back, ignoring the pain in his head that was still so intense it threatened to floor him. "You should know better than that, Osborn! I've survived worse than this! I am notoriously hard to kill!"

"So I've heard. But that's a situation that can, and will, be fixed in a matter of hours."

"You'd better hope those lights don't go out. Because if they do, you'll be dead before you have time to realize it."

"And what do you intend on killing me with?" Osborn mocked, causing Octavius to notice that something was missing...

"What did you do with my actuators!"

"What, you didn't think I was going to lock you in here with them, did you?" Osborn said, pacing the floor. "No, they're capable of too much damage to be left with you. I still remember our last fight, all the damage they could do. I can't let you try to escape, or come after me. They're locked up."

_No... I didn't plan for this!_ Octavius thought, dismayed, but not letting Osborn see it. He managed to open his eyes enough to at least glare at Osborn, to see what he was doing.

"We'll see how powerful you are without your instruments of destruction, Doctor. There's no chance of you getting them back." Osborn said, a cocky tone to his voice again. "Just like there appeared to be no way of me ever being released from prison. But I managed it."

_I suppose this is where the antagonist launches into his self-aggrandizing monologue?_ Octavius thought, rolling his eyes.

It appeared that way, as Osborn continued, "I managed it by secretly keeping contact with my associates on the outside, plotting my escape discreetly, out of sight of the guards who kept watch over me. Even as I planned my escape, I managed to work on my plot against you, ordering the so-called head of the Russian Intelligence Service to abduct you so as to have you locked up when I escaped, so I wouldn't have to hunt you down."

"Wait a second... _you_ were the man behind that plan, as well!" Octavius asked, unable to believe what he was hearing. "But they wanted me to build a bomb! They never gave any indication of another man being involved!"

"No, they wouldn't have, would they?" Osborn said, continuing. "I used them as a cover, so my role would remain hidden. Anyways, the plan was endangered when you escaped. So I sent them after your fiancée in order to draw you out. But they had her brought to Moscow. Apparently they really _did_ want their bomb, so I worked them into my plan. They'd get their weapon, and I'd get ahold of you."

"But I was there when they abducted her!" Octavius shouted, infuriated. "Why not just take me then?"

At that, Osborn fell silent. This was apparently news to him.

"Why did you have to include my wife in all of this? Why couldn't you just let it go? Now my best friend is dead, my wife is probably out there worrying now, and we're here, still enemies after two long years!" Octavius shouted, glaring at Norman. "This is a bad cycle, Osborn! Your plan for revenge has involved too many innocent people!"

"Enough talk." Osborn said, waving off the words. "I have things now that must be done elsewhere. I'll be back later, however." He reached for the doorhandle with one hand, and reached into the pocket of his suit with the other, pulling out a small round object. "I suppose there's no need for you to remain conscious while I'm gone. Consider this a better alternative to sitting here waiting, wondering about your fate."

Octavius had a very bad feeling about what that object was, and he stumbled forward, hoping to get it away from Osborn before he activated it.

Unfortunately, Osborn was too quick, and he pressed the button on the device, throwing it to the floor as he left the room. A greenish gas spewed from the device, and Octavius looked at it, rather horrified.

He backed up against the wall, hoping to get away from it, but it spread through the room quickly, and before he knew it he had fallen to his knees on the concrete floor, clutching his throat as the gas worked its effect on him. He could see blackness at the edges of his vision, and he fought to fight off the imminent darkness.

As it was, he didn't even have time to think before he succumbed to that darkness.

xxx

_Meanwhile, at Precinct Ninety-Two..._

Capt. Stacy was surprised by some of the connections he had been uncovering as he went through the file he had DeWolff retrieve earlier that day. She sat in his office, listening to what he had to say.

"I don't believe this." Capt. Stacy said for about the twentieth time that day. "Apparently she's been arrested before for what appears to be illegally wiretapping certain people, most of them in her teenage years." He said, reading that section aloud. "Most of them were people who she did not like much; people who made her life difficult. She apparently used the material she learned as blackmail; if they didn't leave her alone, she'd expose them." He put his hand to his forehead. "The makings of a teenage criminal mastermind. Apparently, though, that's the only thing on her record, except..." here, his eyes went wide and his voice trailed off.

"Except what, captain?" DeWolff asked.

"...Except an altercation in her senior year of high school. She pulled a gun on another student. It says that rounds were fired, but no one was hurt. She was nearly expelled for it."

The office was silent for a moment, before another realization struck him. That day that she and Rosie came down to the station for an interview, Carolyn had knocked a giant lamp to the floor. He now remembered a course he had taken after discovering that the Russian Intelligence Service had him wiretapped for years. One of the things he learned was ideal hiding spots for listening devices...

He got up and walked over to the lamp and carefully checked underneath the base, feeling around the edge.

Then, he found it. Not much bigger than a dime, he plucked the listening device out of the lamp.

"She had _us_ bugged, too." the Captain replied as he set the device on the table in front of DeWolff.

"For what reason?" DeWolff asked, confused herself.

"Probably so her and Rosie could get any information we had on the Octavius case." the Capt. replied. "I doubt Rosie knew about it; it doesn't seem like the sort of thing she'd let go by. But I want a search around the city. See if we can find her."

DeWolff nodded and left the room, already barking orders for officers to get ready for a search. She wasn't second-in-command for nothing, after all.

Capt. Stacy put his hand to his head, amazed at what he just found out.

_This... is... impossible._

xxx

_Osborn's lair, several hours later..._

Osborn walked back into the room to find Octavius evidently still unconscious, lying face down on the floor where he had fallen earlier. He stood in the doorway a minute before walking over to Octavius, looking down at him.

"Otto, wake up." he said.

No response.

"Wake up!" he shouted.

Still no response.

Osborn knelt down to wake him up by force, when suddenly Octavius' hand flew up to grab Osborn by the collar of his shirt. Before Norman had time to realize what had just happened, Octavius had forced him to the ground, managing to land a few blows to Osborn's head.

"You are really _testing me,_ Osborn!" Octavius shouted as he struck Norman again and again, the other too stunned to put up a fight. "There is only so much I can take out of you! You threaten_me_, you threaten _my wife,_ you are now responsible for the death of my best friend... _do you understand now that I've had it with you!"_

Osborn finally managed to roll away from his attacker, getting to his feet with a black eye and a split lip. He said, "I understood that back when we first fought atop the Empire State."

_"Then **why** do you keep interfering in my life!"_ Octavius shouted, getting to his feet as well, a downright frightening scowl on his face as he took a step towards Osborn, obviously intending to attack again if pushed too far.

"Revenge. Isn't that the reason _you've_ been hunting me down?" Osborn replied, putting a handkerchief to his split lip. "If I have a vendetta against someone, I don't let it lie; I make sure it's carried out. You are probably the person I most look forward to enacting my revenge against."

"The feeling's mutual." Octavius growled. "Except that I was willing to let you live if you had not interfered in my life. You should have just let it go. Now you've ensured your destruction."

"Oh, Doctor. Do you really believe yourself capable of taking me down?" Osborn asked, the cockiness oddly lacking in his voice now. "You don't even have your instruments of destruction with you, now. You never will. They're locked up in a heavy steel box, where you'll never get to them."

Then realization dawned, and Octavius knew exactly how to escape.

_He doesn't realize how strong my connection is to them..._ he thought. _It'll take a lot more than a steel box to keep them away from me. If he'd known that, he'd have done something more drastic._

"But if you intended to kill me, why bring me here?" he asked, not really caring to hear the answer, but trying to stall for time as he searched in his mind for the connection that would grant him his freedom... and the capacity to destroy his enemy.

"Because I have no intention of killing you just yet." Osborn said, apparently on the verge of explaining the rest of his master plan. "I figure, I've been working on my plan for revenge too long to just kill you. I'm still working out the details, but maybe I'll use you as an experiment. How can mind and machine fuse together so perfectly? There's a question that probably intrigues a lot of people."

_Keep talking, Osborn._ Octavius thought. He was so close to finding the connection that he could almost feel it...

"Maybe I'll just keep you locked in this room forever." he continued. "Maybe I'll just change my mind and kill you later tomorrow."

_Found it!_ He'd found the connection he was looking for, and even now, his actuators were tearing through the box that had imprisoned them...

"What time is it?" Octavius asked as the actuators drew nearer and nearer to the room.

"Nearly midnight." Osborn replied, confused at the rather pointless question. "Why?"

_I think you'll appreciate this little bit of irony, Osborn._

"Midnight? Seems a bit symbolic, doesn't it?" Octavius replied as the actuators smashed through the wall, snatching Osborn up by the collar of his suit. "After all, people are usually executed at midnight."

Osborn looked down at the actuators, bewildered.

"How!" Osborn shouted, trying to pry the actuator's grip off of him. "HOW did you call them back!"

"As you said, mind and machine seamlessly fused together. I can control them, even when they're not attached to me." Octavius mocked as he smashed the overhead light, throwing the room into darkness.

Somewhere in that darkness, Osborn said, "There's no way you could have called them back like that!"

"I got them back, didn't I?" Octavius snarled, constricting Osborn with a tentacle, coiling it tighter and tighter around him. He could hear Osborn struggling for breath, while trying not to cry out in pain; even then, he didn't want Octavius to know, to take satisfaction in, the knowledge that he was hurting from the attack.

"How does it feel, knowing you're going to die?" Octavius said, a menacing edge to his voice. "To know that, in a few moments, your life will be at its end?"

The silence coming from Osborn gave him the answer he was looking for.

But just as Octavius prepared to deal the final blow, the voice of Curtis Connors spoke in his head.

_"Revenge is like a poison; don't succumb to it..."_

At that, he hesitated. What was Curt trying to tell him? Not to kill Osborn? But Osborn had gone too far this time! Because of him, Octavius was once again on the run from the police, and Curt had lost his life! How could he let Osborn live after what had transpired!

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to think about it.

A gunshot split the silence of the dark room, and Octavius felt a searing pain rip across his chest. He dropped Osborn out of instinct, howling in pain. He stumbled back a step, trying to locate Osborn in the darkness.

Suddenly, he was knocked to the floor as Osborn landed a flying kick, one that definitely hurt, with Osborn's enhanced strength. Struggling to get to his feet, he started swinging blindly, his tentacles thrashing wildly, in the hope that one of them would find its mark. He had to end this fight quickly.

Finally, one of the tentacles found its mark; Osborn cried out in surprise, and there was a resounding THUD as he impacted against the wall. Osborn got up and charged towards Octavius, managing to make it past the tentacles that were even then reaching for him, catching him in a flying tackle, landing a few blows himself. Octavius felt something snap in his side, and, managing to keep from crying out at the pain, snatched his enemy up by the leg and slammed him into the wall, ceiling, anything he could. He threw Osborn against the far wall, only a moment before he smelled smoke, and a dim red flickering light illuminated the room; sure signs of a fire starting somewhere in the room.

"You could have had a quick and easy death, Norman!" Octavius said, now able to see the dim outline of his enemy still struggling to get to his feet. "But now, I think I'll draw it out; make your final moments as painful as humanly possible!"

Osborn got to his feet, pulled out his pistol and fired another round. Unfortunately, this round hit its intended target as well. Octavius stumbled back another step at the impact, snatching the gun from Osborn before he could fire again, making sure to snap it in half. How he was still standing was a mystery to him; maybe it was simply the adrenaline? Maybe it was the prospect of finally being able to kill Osborn? But now he was having trouble catching his breath; that probably meant that it was a lung shot. He didn't much care to entertain that idea.

Osborn realized this as well, and he launched himself at Octavius, managing to land another kick to his chest that sent him to the floor. As Octavius glared up at him, Osborn couldn't help but brag about the victory that he assumed he already had.

"Looks like the only one dying today will be you." he mocked as the fire that had started was getting bigger. "And how satisfying that will be for me."

"I'm... not dying, Osborn." Octavius said, not yet making a move to get up, trying not to let the pain into his voice. He was really hurting by now, but he would just as soon die before letting his enemy know that.

"How can you look me in the eyes and say that?" Osborn said, surprised at his opponent's stubborn attitude. "You've got two gunshot wounds in you, and one of them will be fatal within the next fifteen minutes, if you can't get help. It's over."

"It's... not over... until I say it is!" Octavius shot back. "Even... if I die... I'm still going... to kill _you_ first!"

"And that's the kind of attitude that is your weakness." Osborn said, laughing. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time. The day that I had you completely at my mercy."

At _that,_ Octavius started to get to his feet and, using one actuator against the wall to steady himself, managed it. He glared over at Osborn, meeting his eyes, and said, "I... am at _no one's mercy!"_

Osborn took a step back and said, "Impossible! H-How can you still get up and fight in the condition you're in!"

"You know... the answer to that... better than most people..." Octavius said, trying to catch his breath. "I'm Otto Octavius. That's the only reason... that _you_ need!"

With blinding speed, he lashed out with an actuator, slamming Osborn against the far wall. The impact cracked the bricks, and Osborn cried out, but whether it was in pain or surprise, Octavius did not know.

But before he could retaliate, Octavius had ahold of him again, throwing him across the room again as the fire encircled the room. Osborn hit the wall which, weakened by the fire, gave way, creating another hole in the wall.

_My God..._ Osborn thought, lying on the ground, stunned. _How is he still able to fight? How can he take it!_

He got to his feet and jumped back through the hole, only to find that Octavius was nowhere in sight.

_Did he take off? Or is he just screwing with me?_

The answer to that question came a moment later, when Osborn felt something impact the side of his head, followed by the sensation of intense heat; whatever Octavius had struck him with, Osborn had caught fire.

"OH, GOD!" he shrieked, trying to put himself out, not having time to try, as Octavius snatched him up again, slamming him headfirst into the ceiling before dropping him to the floor. Osborn saw stars at the impact, and through the black at the edges of his vision, he saw Octavius standing over him, a scowl on his face.

Octavius knew he had to end this fight _now;_ at this point, he could barely breathe, and he felt as if he could black out at any moment. And if he blacked out, he knew he would never wake up.

"It's... over, Osborn!" he said as he picked his enemy up by the back of the neck, lifting him up so he could look him in the eyes. The sound of sirens could just barely be heard in the mayhem. "You... have caused... too much... trouble... in my life... now... _your_ life... is at its end..."

In his current terrified state, Osborn could not find the words to respond as Octavius' grip on the back of his neck tightened.

And he did not have time to realize what was happening, before the tentacle snapped his neck, and Norman Osborn fell to the floor, lifeless.

Octavius stood there, looking down at his fallen foe, barely able to stand, remaining upright out of sheer refusal to fall. Outside, the sirens were growing louder, and the fire was blazing around him.

_It's over... it's finally over._ he thought, unable to believe it.

He turned to walk towards the door, but the exhaustion and the extent of his injuries caught up with him, and he fell to the floor. He attempted to get back up, but when he tried to push himself upright, he fell back down.

_This can't be where I meet my end!_ he thought as he laid there, beaten, bruised, but still the victor. But right then and there, only one thought crossed his mind.

_Even if this is the end of the line for me... at least I accomplished what I set out to do._

The image of his friend crossed his mind, and this time, it wasn't a painful memory.

_Curt... it's over... I've avenged you._

Then, the blackness at the edge of his vision consumed him. The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Curt's voice speaking in his head.

_Yes, you have... you most certainly have..._

xxx

_10 minutes later..._

The fire had engulfed most of the room by the time Capt. Stacy, the FDNY, and several other officers arrived on the scene after someone across the street reported smoke coming from an upstairs window. They quickly made their way through the building, checking each room for people, before they broke the door down to the room where the fire had obviously started. They were surprised to find many holes in the walls, ones that could not have been made by the fire.

But what was even more alarming was the sight of two men lying on the floor; one was obviously dead; the other, unconscious, but in really bad shape.

The dead man was identified as Norman Osborn.

The unconscious man was identified as Doctor Otto Octavius.

Capt. Stacy did not know what to make of _this_ situation at all.

"Briscoe, go down to the station. Get Rosie Octavius on the line. Tell her to meet me at Midtown General immediately." the Capt. said as he knelt down to look Octavius over.

_How did this happen to him?_ the Capt. thought, shocked. _I suppose that's probably a stupid question. The answer's lying across the room, on fire._

"And call an ambulance, as well!" he called after Briscoe, who had already left the room.

_The Doctor's very lucky the fire didn't reach him before we got here._ Capt. Stacy thought as he took a seat on the hard wood floor, watching the now smoldering remains of the building after the fire department hosed it down. _But what's the chance of him making it through the night?_


	11. The Darkest Night

******Chapter Eleven: The Darkest Night**

_An hour later..._

Rosie was pacing in the living room, waiting for news on what may have happened to her husband. She was awfully frightened; the police scanner had crackled to life several hours ago, reporting on an alleged sighting somewhere near the Ninety-second Precinct.

Finally, the phone rang, and she ran over to it, hoping to hear some good news for a change.

"Yes, this is Rosie..."

It was Det. Briscoe on the other line.

"Mrs. Octavius, this is Det. John Briscoe of the Ninety-second Precinct. We need you to come down to Midtown General. We found him."

A sudden fear overtook her; Briscoe sounded unusually grim now, and she picked up on it.

"I'll be right there. But what's-"

"The captain will tell you when you get here." he said, before hanging up.

She was extremely afraid now; why would Briscoe sound that downcast, unless...?

She ran out of the house, not even bothering to grab her coat. At that moment, she knew that only one thing could have happened to him...

xxx

Ten minutes later, she burst through the front doors of Midtown General Hospital. She had run the entire way; she didn't bother wasting time hailing a taxi.

She ran up to the receptionist's desk and said, "Excuse me, I was called here about ten minutes ago?"

The receptionist looked at her and asked, "And you are..."

"Oh, sorry... um, a man by the name of Otto Octavius was brought in within the last hour. Do you know-"

"Upstairs. He's in the ICU." the receptionist replied, without looking up at her. "I'm assuming you're the woman that detective called earlier?"

Rosie ran upstairs without answering the question. Four floors later, she found the captain standing outside a room.

Capt. Stacy saw her and motioned for her to come over. When she got over to him, she asked, "How is he doing?"

The Capt. looked down at the floor and said, "Well... he's in pretty bad shape. He was shot in the chest twice. One of the wounds was quite serious; it was a lung shot. He has two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, as well. He also appears to have a pretty bad concussion, like he was struck in the head with something. He's... still unconscious right now."

Rosie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob and said, "My God... what _happened_ to him!"

The Capt. hesitated a moment before saying, "He was in a fight with Norman Osborn. It would appear that, in the course of the fight, Osborn shot him and beat him pretty badly. And... we found Osborn dead at the scene."

At that, tears came to her eyes; he had actually murdered Osborn! She didn't want to believe it, but how else...?

"The entire room was engulfed in flames when we got there..." the Capt. continued. " Osborn himself was on fire. Otto was lucky; we got there before the flames reached him. We think he'll be here a few weeks, but ultimately, he'll recover. But..." here, the captain hesitated again, before continuing, "...there's still the matter of Osborn's death. I know this may not be the best time to tell you, but it was clear that he did not die by accident. I'm sorry to tell you this, but... we found marks from the mechanical arms that Otto was wearing on Osborn's body, and his neck was broken. It was no accident. We'll have to wait until he wakes up to question him, but we'll probably have to charge him with murder."

She couldn't take hearing this. _How_ could he have done this! She fell to her knees, her head in her hands, tears rolling down her face. She just couldn't believe that Otto would do something like this; that he was even _capable_ of murder! There had to be some kind of explanation for all this!

The Capt. was silent a moment before he asked, "...Would you like to see him?"

She didn't speak, but she nodded in the affirmative as the captain helped her to her feet, and he led her into the room.

Octavius was lying there, unusually pale against the pillow, rather scratched up. His left arm was in a sling, and his chest was heavily bandaged. His actuators were lying on a table across the room, motionless.

Rosie walked over to him and stood there a moment, before gently placing a hand on his head, pushing his hair out of his eyes, fighting back a sob. How could he have done something like that? That didn't sound like the Otto Octavius that she knew. She didn't want to believe that he was capable of taking a human life; he must not have been in his right mind.

_Maybe Curt's death unleashed something in him that he had fought to keep back all of those years,_ she thought sadly. She remembered what he had once told her about what happened to his mother; maybe it was the way he felt, thinking he was responsible for the deaths of two people close to him? Maybe he felt he had to make up for his mistakes?

"I'd like to stay in here with him tonight." she said to Capt. Stacy, who was standing in the doorway. "I want to be here for him when he wakes up."

"I understand." he replied. "I'll be back in the morning." With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him. She pulled a chair beside his bed and sat down. She took his hand in hers, listening to the soft, if rough, sound of his breathing.

_How did it ever come to this?_ she thought as the night wore on, and she started getting tired. She refused to go to sleep, however, until she knew that he was alright.

xxx

_5:03 am..._

In the back streets of the city, a shadowy figure was trying to find a place to hide for the night. It was unbearably cold, and her coat was not exactly enough to keep out the cold, now.

She walked down the back streets with a noticeably pained look in her eyes; every time she took a step, the twin bullet wounds in her chest would send a jolt of pain up her side.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Not now.

Not after what she'd done.

She was surprised that she hadn't already been caught. Surely by now they'd have realized what she'd done.

Then again, she was intelligent enough to avoid whatever law enforcement came after her.

But tonight, it looked like maybe, intelligence would not be enough.

A flashlight cut through the shadows, falling on her. A voice cried out, "STOP RIGHT THERE!"

She did no such thing. She took off running, clawing for the pistol in her pocket, praying she wouldn't have to use it.

Unfortunately, before she could get away, one of the officers had tackled her, knocking her to the ground. Instantly, a flash of pain unlike no other tore through her at the impact, and she had to keep from crying out.

The officer pulled her to her feet and forced her hands behind her. Another officer ran a flashlight up and down her, noticing the bullet holes in the coat she was wearing.

"I think we've got our girl." the second officer said.

She merely looked down at the ground, an angry, defeated look in her eyes.

"What's your name?" the first officer asked.

She did not respond.

"He asked what your name was." the second officer repeated, sterner. "Look, it will be easier for all of us, especially yourself, if you just cooperate."

Not looking up at him, she muttered something under her breath. Neither of the officers quite understood what she said.

"Can you repeat that?" the second one asked.

She glared up at the cop, who took a step back.

"I said my name is Carolyn Trainer."

The two cops looked at each other and nodded.

"In that case, we'll need you to come with us, then." the first cop said, escorting her to the car that sat idling on the side of the road. The cop cuffed her hands behind her back and put her in the back of the car. They got in the front of the car and drove towards the station.

"Alright, we're here." the second officer said. "We just need to ask you some questions. Think you can answer them for us?"

Once again, she muttered something under her breath.

"Can you repeat that?"

Carolyn looked up at the officers, venom in her stare.

"I said that you can kiss my ass."

xxx

Finally, it was nearing dawn. Rosie was still fighting off sleep as she watched the sun rise over the city.

Then, she heard a low groan, and his hand tightened around hers. She looked over at him, and was a little surprised to find him looking back at her, his eyes only half-open.

"Hi." she said, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Welcome back."

It was a moment before he replied, in a quiet voice, "H-Hi... how'd I end up here?"

"You were brought here last night." she said, her voice shaking slightly. "You were in pretty bad shape. I'm just glad you're alive. I was so scared..." Here, a tear slipped down her cheek as she said, "...when I got the call that you were found, I... I thought they were going to say you had died. I couldn't handle it if anything ever happened to you."

He looked away for a moment and said, "I didn't mean to worry you... I just did what needed to be done. If I hadn't done something, we would never be able to live our lives normally, and eventually, he would have caught up with me. I couldn't let that happen."

So it wasn't just that he was trying to avenge Curt's death; he was trying to protect the both of them. But why'd he have to _kill_ someone to do it?

"I know, I know..." she whispered, tears running down her face. "I just don't know what's going to become of you, now. They're talking about charging you with murder for what happened. You could wind up in prison."

It took him a moment to reply, "Well, even if I do, at least you'll be safe. That's all that matters."

"No, that's _not_ all that matters!" she replied. "I never wanted you to endanger yourself on _my_ behalf! We could have left the city, started our lives over somewhere else! It _never_ had to come down to you killing someone to protect us! Now you're lying here, seriously injured, because of something you thought you had to do, but you didn't!"

The room was silent for a moment before he sat up and said, getting louder with each word spoken, "I _knew_ going into this what it could entail! I _knew_ that it could very well mean death for me! But that _doesn't_ matter to me! You could have gotten caught in the crossfire, in an attempt on _my_ life! I can't bear the thought of being indirectly responsible for the deaths of three innocent people! I-" he stopped for a moment to catch his breath, as by now he was screaming, "I can't live with that! First my mother, then Curt; I can't live with the thought of being responsible for_three_ lives that were cut short too soon for being associated with me!"

"It was not your fault that they died!" she said, trying to talk some sense into him. "You were not responsible for their deaths!"

"But if they were not associated with me, they would still be alive now!" he shouted, a note of anguish in his voice. "If I had not gotten into that argument with my mother, she would still be alive! If I hadn't asked Curt to come with me to Moscow to find you, the Chameleon would not have even known who he was! Those people died because of me!"

"Otto, things happen that cannot be controlled! Why do you keep blaming yourself for this?" she said as she leaned over him so she could look him in the eyes. "You're a brilliant man; how can you not understand what I'm trying to tell you? Things happen in this world that no one can foresee, let alone avoid! You didn't know the Chameleon was going to pull a gun on Curt in that fight! And as to your mother, she was probably on the verge of a heart attack anyways! She must have been rather old when she died; I mean, you're twenty-seven, so she had to be somewhere in her fifties or sixties! People can't cause other people to have a heart attack, no matter how heated your argument with her may have been! You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened to them!"

"You can't understand how I feel about this!" he replied, still shouting. "You've never been through what I have! You don't know the feeling of having someone you know, or someone you love, endangered, just because they _know_ you! You-" here, he broke off in a coughing fit, and it was several seconds before he got himself under control enough to continue, "You can't imagine what it feels like! Knowing every day that those you hold closest to you are endangered because of you! Knowing that, if they die, it is ultimately your fault!"

Rosie averted her gaze, noticing the heart rate on the telemetry. It was dangerously high, and it alarmed her greatly.

"Please, you need to calm down before you hurt yourself worse!" she said, looking at him pleadingly. "I _know_ I can't understand what you've gone through. But I'm trying to help."

She gently pushed him back down in the bed and said, "I know what you've been through, and I can only imagine how it has to have affected you. I'm just trying to get you to understand. You are _not_ responsible for the deaths of either of them. Surely, somewhere in that formidable mind of yours, you must understand this?"

He did not reply as he looked away. She looked away as well, her face red from crying.

"I suppose I do." he finally said, in a voice so quiet Rosie could barely hear his response. "I just... I can't bear the thought of losing anyone else I'm close to. If you died in any of the attempts on my life... it would kill me, Rosie. I _can't_ lose you. Not now, not ever."

She looked back at him, noticing for the first time the tears in his eyes. She had _never_ seen him crying before; not over something like this.

She looked him in the eyes for a moment, noticing the pain in his eyes over the way his life had been. From his hard childhood, to the death of his mother, to the death of his best friend, from the events that had led him here. How he even stayed sane after all that had happened to him was a mystery.

"I understand." she said, fighting back a sob. "I understand completely. I can't lose you either. If anything happened to you, I... I couldn't live with it! I just... I can't live without you!" Here, she leaned down further and pressed her lips to his. She couldn't bear the thought of life without him, and she knew he felt the same; if not because of what he said, then because of his actions. He put his arm around her, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. He couldn't believe she still wanted him after all he had done; he had murdered four people in one week, and she didn't care. He had endangered himself, had been seriously injured on several occasions now, all trying to protect her. Perhaps this was why she stayed with him? Maybe she saw him as some type of wounded soul underneath it all? Maybe that was an answer he would never know. Not that it mattered now. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. Even if he died protecting her... if she was safe, he would give his life. Perhaps she knew this.

When finally they separated, he said, "I can't live without you either. Why do you think I do the things that I do to protect you?"

She did not have time to reply, because as she went to say something, Capt. Stacy entered the room.

"Oh, Doctor, you're awake." the Capt. said as he stood in the doorway. "I know it's early and you've no doubt just woken up, but we really need to talk."

"If you're talking about Osborn's death, yes, I killed him." Octavius said, lying back in the bed, not yet looking at the captain. "But it was in self-defense."

"That's… not what I heard." the Capt. said, taking a seat with a notepad in hand. "From what I was told, you were going to hunt him down."

"I was, at first." Octavius replied, looking over at him. "But then I decided that instead of killing him, I would capture him myself, turn him over to your department and hope that maybe you would actually be able to hold him this time." This, of course, was not entirely true, but what was the use of telling the captain that Osborn didn't truly deserve to live after what he had done to the city?

"Really?" The Capt. asked, sounding somewhat surprised. "But if that's so, how do you explain the deaths of the Vulture and that Kraven character?"

"They were sent to assassinate me." Octavius said, looking out the window. "They were working for Osborn. They were taking his orders, and his orders were to have me eliminated. I didn't mean to kill either of them. But I just... I wasn't going to let them kill me. But Osborn found me himself, knocked me out, and brought me to his hideout, so he could destroy me himself."

_So that explains why we found him in Osborn's building,_ the Capt. thought. It could very well be self-defense, now that he knew more of the story. But there was still the matter of the fourth man involved; that Tombstone character.

"And might you know of anything leading to the death of a man who went by the alias 'Tombstone'?" the captain asked. "He doesn't look like one of your enemies."

"I don't know who you're talking about." Octavius replied, and the captain knew by the look on his face that he was telling the truth.

"Well, Tombstone was another one of Osborn's assassins, apparently. He went after your wife, but someone else was killed in the attempt, apparently trying to protect her."

"And who might this someone be?" Octavius asked, confused. Someone had been sent after Rosie?

The captain looked down at his file and said, "Apparently a young woman by the name of Carolyn Trainer. She managed to shove Rosie out of the way of the gunfire. She was not able to avoid it herself."

Octavius closed his eyes tightly; another life cut short for being associated with him. And one with so much potential...

"When did this happen?" he asked, saddened by what he was hearing.

"Only three days ago." the captain replied. "I take it you knew her?"

"She was my lab assistant." Octavius replied, opening his eyes and looking at Rosie.

The captain was silent a moment before continuing. "I see. Well, we never did find her body, as we heard about what happened from Rosie. We searched the scene, but she was gone. Shortly after, Tombstone was found shot dead in an alley a few blocks from the lab. We have no suspects in that shooting death though."

Just then, another officer walked in the room and said, "Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we found the person who murdered that Tombstone guy. Our guys brought her in about an hour ago."

"Well, speak of the devil." the Capt. said, under his breath. "Did she give you her name?"

"Yeah, but I don't remember what it was." the officer said. "I think it was Carol or Carolyn or something like that."

At that, Octavius and Rosie looked at each other, eyes wide. Could it be-?

The captain was silent a moment before he said, "I'll be right back." He left the room, probably to find a phone. The room was silent until he returned, a bemused smile on his face.

"It would appear as though your lab assistant is still alive." the captain said. "And that she has quite the vengeful streak."

"You're kidding me!" Octavius said, looking over at the captain.

"No, I'm not." the Capt. Replied, unable to hide his amusement, however serious the situation. "It would appear that Tombstone was shot by none other than Carolyn Trainer herself."

At that, Rosie, despite the seriousness of the situation, had to keep from laughing, and Octavius asked, "So she survived?"

"Apparently." the captain said. "Either that, or the person sitting down at the station is her identical twin. It took them a while to get her to talk, but she says she's willing to give her side of the story. Said she'd been found unconscious in an alley, presumably from blood loss, by a man who said he'd once worked as a medical attendant for Osborn's lab. Think she said his name was Mendel Stromm. That name sound familiar to you?"

At that, Octavius couldn't help but shake his head in bemusement; he did know who Stromm was. He'd been in a very similar situation, and Mendel had found him out cold, outside his apartment._How ironic,_ he thought, _and strangely appropriate._

"Anyways, she's sitting down at the station now, being questioned. She'll probably be locked up a while, though." the Capt. continued.

"I understand." Octavius said. "How long do you think I'm going to be here?"

"I'd say, at the minimum, two weeks." the captain said. "You do know the extent of your injuries?"

"I have some idea."

"Well..." the Capt. said as he grabbed the clipboard off of the desk, "...when you were brought here at twelve fifty-three pm last night, you had a dislocated shoulder, two cracked ribs, a moderate concussion, and two gunshot wounds to the chest. One of them was a lung shot. They got that stitched and cleaned up, and it should be fine now. The other shot was not as serious. You were also diagnosed as being in a state of severe exhaustion. They said they don't know how you managed to stay on your feet, much less fend off his attack." The captain hesitated before continuing, "Even so, when you came in, they gave you only a fifty/fifty chance for survival."

Octavius could not find the words to respond; he was _that_ bad off?

"They say you should make a complete recovery, when all is said and done." Capt. Stacy continued. "We'll worry then about what to do about the entire situation with Osborn's death and those of the Vulture and Kraven. But I can offer a ray of hope; considering what you've told me, we may be able to plead self-defense."

"I should hope so." Octavius replied, looking up at the ceiling, still unable to believe what the captain had told him.

"I have a few other details to take care of at the precinct." Capt. Stacy said, walking towards the door. "You're an intelligent man; I know I can trust you not to run, so I'll leave you in her capable hands." he finished, pointing at Rosie with his thumb before walking out the door.

Octavius was silent a moment before he looked over at Rosie and said, "Was I really in that bad of a condition when I was brought here?"

"I'm afraid so." she said. "But at least we know you'll be fine now."

Octavius did not respond to this. His mind flashed back to the last week, and how much he had probably lost because of it. His best friend, his lab assistant, who would surely be locked up, most surely his freedom...

...but he did not lose Rosie. That's what was important to him.

He took her by the hand and said, "How do you put up with me? This is the third time I've been mixed up in a situation like this. And now I've taken a human life. How do you do it?"

She looked down at him, and it was a moment before she replied, "Because you're the only person I can imagine living my life with. I can't imagine living life without you. I realized this back when I was in Moscow, a year ago. How alone I felt..." She tried to fight back the tears that menaced her, but before she knew it, she found herself crying, tears rolling down her face, her body wracked with sobs. He put his uninjured arm around her, catching her in an embrace. She put her head on his shoulder, trying to get herself under control enough to stop crying, but she was just not able to.

When finally she stopped crying, he said quietly, "If it's any consolation, I feel the same way about you."

She only looked down at him for a moment, before leaning back down, kissing him again, more passionately than she did earlier. By way of this alone, he knew that she meant it. The two of them could not go on without the other. This thought hung in the air between them as the sun came up, setting the red sky ablaze, dispelling the shadows of the black night that their lives had nearly become.


	12. Epilogue: What I've Done

******Epilogue: What I've Done**

_3 years later..._

_The skies were filled with thick grey clouds, and snow was threatening to fall on the city._

_Many things had happened in the last three years. By now, Octavius had completed his experiment, which was, as expected, a success. Also, as expected, he had become rather famous for his breakthrough; his experiment was the talk of the scientific community. They had recently learned that Rosie was incapable of having kids, for prior health issues. This made her depressed for a few weeks, but they got through it._

_Octavius had not been charged with the deaths of Norman Osborn, The Vulture, or Kraven; they had all been ruled self-defense._

_Unfortunately, Carolyn Trainer had been charged with murder, for the death of Tombstone. However, taking into account the fact that Tombstone had shot her only a few minutes prior, and the threat that he still posed, and would have posed if she hadn't, she was let off easy. She was only expected to serve five to ten years._

_Speaking of which..._

Octavius walked in the front door of New York State Prison, looking around. The looks on the faces of the criminals there did not frighten him. After all, he had lived through worse.

He gave his identification and reason for being there, and was promptly escorted into the visitor's room, with the warning that he had ten minutes. There, Carolyn was sitting backwards in a chair, her arms folded on the back of it, staring out the window.

"Hey, Carolyn." Octavius said as he grabbed a chair, sitting down beside her.

She looked over at him and said, "Hey. Anything new happening on the outside?"

"Not much." he replied. "I've had to fight off a few reporters today trying to ask me about my research into nuclear fusion. I practically had to beat them off with a stick to get here."

"You know, they're thinking of letting me out of here in two years." Carolyn said, looking back out the window. "Maybe when I get out, I could come down to the lab and give you a hand."

"Sounds like a plan." he said, nodding.

The two were silent for a minute or two before she said, "To this day, I don't remember why I did it. Why I killed Tombstone. I still don't remember much of that night. Maybe it was simply revenge. After all, he shot me first. Maybe it was simply that I didn't want anything to happen to either of you. You know me."

"I do." he replied.

"I know what she means to you. I didn't want to see you get hurt." she said, looking down at the floor. "I paid a high price for it, though. I remember waking up half a day later, no idea where I was at, or what had even happened to me. When that Mendel found me, I was lying unconscious on the ground, still holding my pistol. I only remembered later that day that I had killed Tombstone. I took a day to recover before I left. I couldn't figure out why I would have done such a thing."

Then, the call came that his ten minutes were over. Octavius stood up, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "We all make mistakes, Carolyn. Just don't let them get to your head."

Now, he was back home, sitting beside Rosie, his arm around her shoulder, watching the fire in the fireplace.

"Is something wrong?" Rosie asked, concerned. "You've been awfully quiet tonight."

"Oh, it's... nothing." he replied, sighing. "It's just that... it was exactly three years ago that Curt died. I'm just a little... oh, I don't know."

Rosie did not have a reply to that.

"I just... I just wish I could go back in time and prevent all of that from happening." he said sadly. "It wasn't his time to die. He still had everything going for him. A successful career. A wife, now without a husband. A son, now without a father. And all because some third-rate thug with a gun had a grudge."

"At least now you understand that it's not your fault it happened." she said as she turned him to face her. She could see the sadness written in his face. He had never been the same since the day Curt died. "Some things can never be controlled."

"I know." he said as he stood up. "If you'll excuse me for a minute..."

He walked into his room and shut the door behind him, walking up to the small mirror that hung on one wall. He removed his shirt and looked at himself in the mirror. He could still see the various scars of the past five years of his life; the three diagonal slash marks from when Curt had lost control of his Lizard alter ego, the bullet wound in his shoulder from when him and Curt escaped a Russian prison, the two bullet wounds in his chest from when Norman Osborn shot him...

How he had even survived the last five years of his life was a mystery to him.

It always seemed that those who he became involved with always left their mark on him, either emotionally or physically.

He ran a finger along one of the diagonal scars and thought, _Why is it that everyone I know, everyone I ever grow close to, always comes to a bad end? Or that they leave me?_

Suddenly overcome with emotion, he slammed his fist into the mirror, watching it splinter into jagged shards that fell to the floor at his feet. He fell to his knees and slammed his fist into the carpeting, screaming, _"WHY DOES ALL OF THIS SEEM TO HAPPEN TO ME!"_

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock that hung on the wall, until Rosie walked into the room, looking visibly concerned.

"Otto, are you alright?"

It took him a moment, but finally he said, "No, Rosie, I'm not alright. I'm... I'm just so tired of all of this. It seems like everyone I ever really valued as a friend, as a confidante, always leaves me in the end. My mother, one of my close friends back in Germany, and now Curt. I don't understand it."

Rosie was silent a moment as she knelt down beside him and said, "I haven't. And I never will."

"How can you be so sure?" he replied, looking down at the floor. "That's the same thing they all said. My mother, Curt, Mary Alice Anders... they all said they'd never leave. But look at what happened to them. I'm tired of it! I can't take it anymore!"

"I'm sorry for what happened to all of them. I really am." Rosie said, putting her arms around him, pulling him close. "But this is the present. You have to stop focusing on the past. You have to look towards the future."

She helped him to his feet and said, "Remember what I said. I'm not going to leave you. Not now, not ever."

The two were silent, before Octavius said, "I'm going out to the cemetery. I'm going to give Curt a visit."

Rosie just nodded and handed him his shirt and coat.

"Don't be gone too long. There's a storm that's supposed to break soon."

Now, he was outside the city, walking into the New York cemetery, the wind whipping back the corners of his trenchcoat. He pulled his coat tighter about him as he walked among the graves, looking for one in particular.

He located it and stood beside it, reading the inscription on the headstone.

"Curtis Connors 1899 - 1935 Loving Husband Loving Friend"

He knelt down, putting his hand atop the stone.

"It's been a while since we've talked, old friend." he said, the way he would if he was talking to his friend in real life. "Not sure if you saw the news. A lot of people felt bad for what happened to you. I've missed you, you know... God, I wish you could be here now. I haven't been the same without you. Things will never be the same.

"You know, the week you died, I could barely drag myself out of bed in the morning. Every time I'd go to bed at night, I would see what happened replayed in my head, like a nightmare that would never go away. The week I disappeared, it just got worse. I would wake up screaming, thinking that I'd killed you." Here, his voice broke, and he had to regain his composure before continuing, "I know now that I didn't, but to wake up, thinking you were responsible for the death of your best friend... it nearly broke me. It _did_ break me. That's why I set out to avenge you. I no longer have those dreams. But if it meant you were still alive... I would just as soon have them..." here, a tear slipped down his cheek and he said, "Why do people do things like that? Why do they kill without any good reason? Why?" He had to fight back a sob as he said, "Why couldn't the Chameleon have taken me? You left behind a wife and son."

He stood up and fumbled in his pocket for something.

"I brought something for you. Figure you deserve it more than me. After all, you helped inspire me."

He pulled out a small object; it was the medal he had been awarded when he won the Nobel Prize for his work into fission. He placed it atop the grave and said, "I was awarded the honor last year. Wish you could have been there to see it."

The snow started to fall, and he said, "I suppose I'll be back later. We have quite a bit of catching up to do."

And with the snow falling and the wind howling around him, he walked out of the cemetery, back towards the city.

Yes, over the last five years since he'd came to America, Otto Octavius had clearly changed. He'd seen the rough side of life, had been in more incidents than most men could bear, and he'd lived through it all. No longer was he the shy, vulnerable young man he'd been when he came to America; now, he was a distinguished scientist, who had built up his name and his reputation, whose name was as well-known as those of Niels Bohr, Ernest Rutherford, and yes, even Albert Einstein. But, as he'd once said to his wife, Rosie, three years ago, the fame had not changed him.

No, what _had_ changed him were the things he had seen, the things he had done, the things he had lived through.

Yes, he had clearly changed. He still bore the scars of all of those past experiences, but he had finally left his past behind him. He rarely thought about his past, and was instead steadily moving forward, shaping his destiny. He knew now that things happened that no one could control; he had learned that much from Rosie. He also knew that some things just had to be kept in the past.

He walked into the city, pushing that thought out of his head as he walked down the streets, pulling his coat tighter around him, the snow now falling harder.

Some things just had to be kept in the past. And some things had to be let go.

_-Finis_

xxx

"Let mercy come, and wash away, what I've done!  
I face myself, to cross out what I've become!  
Erase myself, and let go of what I've done!"

_-Linkin Park, "What I've Done"_


End file.
